The odd tale of Amelia Holmes
by julyheat
Summary: After Sherlock and Mycroft discover that Moriarty has located their estranged sister, Amelia, they set out to return her to London. Back home, against her will, Amelia is forced to confront the demons that made her flee 12 years before. What her brothers do not realize is that Amelia is more than prepared this time around. Possible John/OC and Molly/Lestrade.
1. Invasion of a mind palace

The worst possible revenge that John ever exacted on Sherlock was the small act of hiding his bullets. To make the situation worse, for the last three weeks, Lestrade has refused to give Sherlock another case. Allegedly, Sherlock is being punished. John calmly watched as Sherlock paced the flat. _He deserves this._ John thought to himself. Although, after about 6 hours of nonstop movement, John had enough, "Sherlock, please, for the love of all that is holy, STOP."

Sherlock's only response is an icy glare.

"I do not know why you insist that I am your jailer" John's voice slowly grew louder. This argument was getting very old, very quickly. "Lestrade warned you about pushing Donovan. We already knew that things were rocky between her and Anderson. You just HAD to bring up the fact that Anderson's wife is pregnant…."

"She shot at me! What was I supposed to do?"

"She was aiming three feet in front of you. Don't even try to convince me that you were in any sort of trouble."

Sherlock flopped onto the couch, rolling into a fetal position and facing the wall. "My actions were with good reason."

With that, he closed his eyes and went to his mind palace. Typically, he preferred to stretch out, hands folded, but like every action he performed in the last three weeks, he needed to make a point to John. Slowly, all the noises from the street faded. Sherlock could no longer hear Mrs. Hudson puttering around downstairs, singing off-key to her favorite oldies station. He was at last focused. To alleviate the crushing boredom, Sherlock selected a door with a dusty sign with the words "Cold Cases" scrawled at an angle.

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief. How the hell did Sherlock know that John was planning to nap on the couch…more importantly, why the hell didn't John see that coming? With a heavy sigh, John retrieved his coat and started outside for a long Sherlock-less walk.

As soon as John stepped onto the sidewalk, a seemingly ordinary black car pulled up next to him. John rolled his eyes. _ Great, one Holmes brother down and the next just has to pop up._

Mycroft Holmes emerged from the backseat. Oddly enough, Anthea was not with him. John was struck by the absence of Mycroft's blackberry addicted assistant. "John, there is no time for our usual pleasantries" Mycroft stated, he continued after ignoring John's snort "Sherlock is needed, now."

John shrugged "I don't think you understand the level of pissed off Lestrade is. Sherlock is banned from cases for at least another week-and that's only if he apologizes to Donovan."

"Scotland Yard has nothing to do with this particular situation." Mycroft straightened the cuffs of his jacket, no longer meeting John's eyes. "This is more of a personal matter."

With that, Mycroft pushed his way inside and up the stairs. "Good luck" John drawled "He's in his mind palace, nothing short of a nuclear bomb will rouse him."

Mycroft stopped halfway up the stairs. "No John, there is one thing that will get him out of that state. I truly hoped that you would not be involved with this, but as time is of the essence, it appears that you have no choice."

John was torn. Even though he would never admit this out loud, he missed the excitement of a new case. Watching Sherlock work his way around a crime scene, spitting out deductions and coming to conclusions at a near impossible pace, was almost an art form. John shook his head. _Sherlock really needs to apologize, here I am romanticizing murder cases and my thoughts are turning into something that an American girl who is attempting fan fiction would come up with._

From inside, John heard Mrs. Hudson. "For goodness sake boys, close the door! This cold snap is doing something awful to my heating bills."

John heaved a sigh and walked inside. Mycroft pulled him close and told him a story that had John pull back so quickly, he damn near fell off the stairs.

Somewhere, in the back of Sherlock's mind, Mycroft and John's voices were faintly discussing a "matter of most importance." Sherlock briefly looked up from a particularly promising case of a 1920's blues singer found hanging upside down, blood completely drained, from her dressing room. _Dear Christ, Mycroft, when ISN'T something a matter of most importance to you? I guess that is the downfall of being the British Government._

The very fact that Sherlock could hear their voices did not alarm him. Sherlock has long trained himself to pick up John's voice, no matter where he was in his mind palace. John was safe. What was infinitely more concerning that somewhere deep in the corner of Sherlock's mind palace, a long-ignored door began to shake.

John, dazed by Mycroft's admissions, slowly walked towards the couch. _Mycroft told me exactly what to say, why is this so hard? _John cleared his throat and made sure that he was far enough away from Sherlock to be out of immediate reach. "Sherlock" he began, "Mycroft found her. She is alive, but that is all he knows for sure. Moriarty is also aware of her location and is on his way to get her. You two need to leave immediately."

Almost instantly, Sherlock rolled over and stood. Without a single word, he stalked out the door. John expected a quick response, but, Jesus, Sherlock did not even have an expression on his face. _It is as if he is on autopilot._ Mycroft specifically expressed that John stay at Baker Street. "You are not needed for this." he sniffed "Though, do feel free to make this flat more accommodating."

Based on Sherlock's reaction, John assumed that he acted with little thought or feeling. However, nothing could be further from the truth. With John's first sentence to Sherlock, the dreaded door shook harder. Sherlock watched in trepidation as that door finally burst open, bringing all the memories back.

_A small baby girl with strange blue eyes. Another unwanted child that was merely tolerated in the house. Sherlock, only 9 years old at the time, staring back. She could be my family, he thought. We can leave Mother, Father, and Mycroft to their stupid bubble of self-importance. We could go on true adventures._

_5 years old, running to Sherlock with a captured frog. "How on earth did you get that in the house?" asked Sherlock. "Easily" was her breathless reply. "I showed it to that ridiculous nanny. She started screaming almost immediately so everyone else stayed away. You were right, Lock, after a while, they just don't want to know."_

_12 years old, one of the few phone calls that he was allowed in rehab. "I hate this school" she bemoaned "All the girls care about is landing the most popular boy in class, who by the way, is dating the school drug dealer." Sherlock took a moment to look at the red marks on the inside of his elbow. "I know exactly how you feel. But please, do be smarter than I was. I can't be there to protect you anymore and there are far worse places that our parents can stick you in."_

_Finally, the letter that made Sherlock's world stop. "You are right, you can't protect me. No one can and, furthermore, no one wants to. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Please don't try to find me. Your sister, Amelia"_

Madison Wisconsin

Jane Foster tipped her head back and smiled into the sunshine. Her dark and wild curls temporarily tamed by copious amounts of hair product and strategically placed clips. _Global warming, be damned, I love these freak warm days._ Looking down State Street, she began her argument on how to spend her first day of her well deserved vacation. _Seriously, that last project was practically murder. _ "The Farmer's Market? That's exactly what I want to do, dodge snot nosed minihumans and idiot college students who are more interested in the hot cheese bread than the fresh produce. Besides, I already went with you two years ago, I doubt this trip will be any different."

Shay Monroe, her best friend, made a poor attempt at a pouting face. "It has changed more than you think. Come on! Let's just do something fun for once."

"Boring!" was her only reply. Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on Shay's face, Jane reconsidered. "Fine, I will go, but on one condition."

"Anything!"

"You let me refer to you by your proper name." Jane cackled at Shay's immediate response.

"Forget it. You win, I would sooner die by a thousand needles dipped in salmonella."

"A mix of H1N1 and rabies would be more fun."

"What?"

"Nothing, shall we head out to Devil's Lake? I would love to go on the Tumbled Rocks trail" Jane began walking towards the parking ramp, "Come on, we can stop at that little shop on the way to the car, I will even treat you to one of those cheap cats with the waving arm."

Slightly mollified, Shay followed. "There is karaoke tonight, can you at least do a drunken rendition of 'Don't Stop Believing'?"

Jane shook her head. "You know I don't drink. But sure, karaoke is always hilarious to be a part of after 11pm."

"Please, with enough sleep deprivation, almost everything is more fun after 11pm." Shay shook out her recently dyed auburn hair and stared after her friend. "Can we at least try to get a phone number while we are out?"

"No."

Despite the warm weather, hiking in a foot of snow proved to be more cumbersome than Jane wanted to admit. But seeing the open lake and massive bluffs that surrounded the state park, Jane felt like she could breathe normally for the first time since, well, she cared to remember. Shay had been unusually quiet during the hike, more observant, actually. Jane felt a small stab of panic. _Relax, she isn't that perceptive . _Turning around, Jane and Shay locked eyes. "You owe me the biggest whiskey you can lay your hands on when this is over."

Jane smiled "I thought you lived for this active outdoors lifestyle."

"Absolutely, I love it during the summer. With sunshine. And temperatures that aren't putting us at risk for hypothermia." Shay shook her head "I wish I knew what was getting into you. You seem more on edge, more restless. What happened?" Her dark green eyes seemed to peer into Jane's soul. _Oh, this will not do. _Jane deliberately looked nonchalant as she shrugged. "Just feeling like moving on, that's all. There is only so much to do in Chicago."

Shay nodded, satisfied with Jane's reply. "You do tend to hop around every few years. Where were you last? Houston?"

"Memphis."

"And how, dear friend, do you manage to thrive in every city you move to?"

Jane smirked "Just chalk it up to a particular set of skills."

Shay rolled her eyes and sat on a rock. "That's it, I give up."

"We barely started talking about my nomadic lifestyle, you're losing your touch." Jane sang out.

"Not about that, I give up hiking. Can we please go stuff our faces now?"

By that evening, Jane, much to her dismay, found herself at City Bar. _What the hell? How did I get talked into going to a college bar at bro-o'clock?_ Speaking at a respectable volume was near impossible as the bartender turned up the music to an eardrum shattering level. _Great, dodging frat boys and listening to some idiot going on about kissing a girl. Just my kind of night._ Turning to look at Shay, Jane pouted and looked pointedly at the exit. "Oh, calm down" yelled Shay "This is the best bar for people watching. Let's play our favorite game, for old time's sake!"

"I will give it 15 minutes and then I am out of here, with or without you."

Shay grinned. "I'll take it! Now, who is hooking up and who is getting arrested tonight?"

Jane scanned the crowd. Instantly she saw an interoffice couple, trying to hide their relationship from their boss, who just happened to invite the whole staff out for a congratulatory drink. _Nope. _ There was a thin blonde simultaneously keeping the attention of 4 football players. _Impressive, too bad she was recently dumped and only wants attention. _Jane's focus moved to a middle aged couple, talking rapidly. _Bingo. _With a nod in their direction, Jane started to put on her jacket. Shay, incredulous and gesturing frantically, was demanding to know the logic behind the Dr. Phil lookalike getting booked by the end of the night. Jane started up the stairs to return outside.

As the door closed, the music was muted to a dull throb, not unlike the sensation that threatened Jane's temples. Jane spoke quickly "It is quite simple, actually. That couple is celebrating their 20 year anniversary by returning to the town that they met-college sweethearts. They made the mistake of going into a bar 'for old time's sake' and quickly realized that their, once exciting, marriage has dulled into a routine of work and watching television until it is time to go to bed and repeat. The wife is determined to get her active life back and, as we were leaving, was trying to convince her husband to have sex on the docks. He has had enough to drink that it should not take long for him to agree. Once down there and preoccupied, they will forget about the nearby sorority house with the house mother with bad eyesight."

"Bad eyesight? You lost me."

"The house mother will be convinced that they are students, prompting her to call campus security. They will arrive and realize that they are now out of their jurisdiction and call the actual police. Well, technically, it isn't out of their jurisdiction, they just don't want to deal having to break them up."

Shay stopped in her tracks. "You cannot possibly know all of that with just one look!"

"Have I ever been wrong?"

"I have a twenty that says that tonight, you are off your game."

Jane chuckled. "Fine."

With that, Shay hooked her arm around Jane's. "Now, let's see who else is going to regret their choices by morning!"

Jane's smile faded. "You really don't give up, do you? Lead on, but just one more bar..."

It was half past 3 by the time Shay unlocked her front door. Jane immediately retired to the guest room. She shut herself in and leaned against the old wooden door. Savoring the silence, Jane closed her eyes and debated whether to indulge in a bath or to just collapse in her bed. Jane was not entirely sure what a Behavioral Specialist did, but Shay obviously did it well enough to afford some quality furniture. _Dear God, memory foam, silk sheets, and a down comforter? I may never leave. _Quickly deciding, Jane stripped out of her boots, jeans, sweater, and t-shirt. As she turned on her bedroom light, a deep voice with a posh British accent rang out "Please, before you go any further, I suggest you put on a robe."

Jane's heart stumbled as she quickly turned towards the voice. In the dark, she could sense someone handing her the dragon embroidered robe she picked up in Japan about 7 years ago. With trembling hands, she tied the knot and flipped on the light. Jane found herself looking at two tall men, one standing uncomfortably by the window-Mycroft. Jane immediately realized that he never did find a diet that he could stick to. The other man sat on the corner chair, knees tucked into his chin and looking like he wished he could be anywhere else in the world. Sherlock. Jane could feel her breath getting more shallow as anxiety began to settle in. _How did they find me?_

Mycroft broke the silence first. "Amelia, you need to come with us."


	2. A very awkward tea party

Shay was struggling to remember exactly how much she drank that evening. _It could not have been that much, not nearly enough to hear British voices. _ Giving up the task of recounting drinks, she thought of a better solution: investigate. Turns out, all she needed to do was walk out of her room and into the kitchen. Sitting uncomfortably was her best friend and two strangers. "Jane, what the hell?"

All three heads turned towards her. Amelia gestured to the chair next to her. "You might as well stay, it's not like you can unsee this." As she said the last part of her statement, she glared meaningfully at the older of the strange duo.

Shay slowly sat down and handed Amelia a twenty dollar bill. Amelia smirked and put it in her pocket. Then began the most awkward silence that any of the four could remember being involved in. Shay kept looking at Mycroft and Sherlock, Amelia stared at Mycroft, Sherlock glared at the table as if it made a grievous mistake, and Mycroft looked everywhere but his sister. Amelia was the first person to break the silence. "Oh for god's sake, I'll make the tea and you do the talking." With that, she got up and busied herself at the stove.

Mycroft looked towards the ceiling and begged for the patience to get him through the next 20 minutes or so. "Amelia" he began.

"Wait, who is Amelia?" Shay looked confused. "Jane, do you know an Amelia?"

"Try to keep up, Shameless, Jane IS Amelia." Sherlock finally looked up from the staring contest with the mahogany. "It's not as if you are a stranger to changing your name. Nice name, Jane Foster, I assume that you got it out of that movie."

Jane held her hand up "I will stop you right there, Lock. I have been Jane Foster for 12 years. Give me a little credit."

Shay's face turned a deep shade of crimson. "How did you know my given name?" she demanded.

Mycroft let out a dry laugh "Do not give him the satisfaction of showing off. I assume that he noticed the letter from your landlord on your coffee table." Sherlock glowered at his brother and resumed his silence. Mycroft shrugged and moved on. "Yes, Jane is Amelia, our sister. Now, Amelia, as I said before, you are in danger and it is of the upmost importance that you leave with us. You will return to London, where we can keep you safe. That is all you need to know right now." Mycroft moved his head to the right as he narrowly dodged the box of Earl Grey tea that Amelia hurled at him.

"Not good enough, Mycroft. I know you think that I am some poor defenseless runaway, but I have news for you, I can take care of myself." Even Amelia cringed at the teen-like defiant tone to her voice.

Mycroft merely stood and picked up the box of tea. Shuddering, he turned to Shay "Please tell me that you have something less revolting than this?"

Shay shook her head "Sorry, rude strangers get bottom shelf tea. There is no way I am sharing my quality leaves with you two."

Amelia slammed down four mugs and then the near boiling water. "Drink it and get out."

Mycroft calmly took out a bag of tea. "Amelia, you don't seem to understand….."

"No, I understand plenty, I am in danger and you two think you can waltz in here and save the day. Trust me, I got this." Amelia crossed her arms over her chest "I was never your sister, Mycroft; you never gave my safety a second thought. Not even when I needed you the most. When Sherlock and I needed you the most."

Sherlock turned so fast to face Amelia that she was worried about a neck muscle. He looked startled and mostly pissed off, but deep down, Amelia saw a small streak of embarrassment. "Why are you getting me involved?"

Amelia ignored him. "I have dealt with some seriously unsavory types without breaking a sweat. So if you think that I am just going to run off to London with you, then I hope you like disappointment." To make her point, Amelia turned around to get out some of Shay's better tasting tea.

Unfortunately, Mycroft seized that opportunity. He quickly stepped behind her, took out a full syringe, stuck it in Amelia's neck, and gave her the full dose. "I'm sorry" he murmured. "I did not want to resort to this, but you leave me no choice."

Mycroft slowly let Amelia sink to the floor. Amelia's vision slowly faded but she was still hear Sherlock jump up and start yelling at Mycroft. "What the fuck?! What did you give her?"

Amelia heard Mycroft cross over to Shay's guest bedroom, "Just something from your friend, Miss Adler, now help me calm down Ms. Monroe and pack up Amelia's belongings."

It was almost as if an icy fist started squeezing Amelia's stomach. She knew that it did was not a side effect of the drug, rather, the name that Mycroft just uttered. _Ms. Adler? As in Irene Adler? I didn't know Sherlock was her friend. Oh god, Shelock, I am so sorry. _ With that final thought, Amelia slipped into unconsciousness.


	3. An ally?

**Thank you for checking out my modest writings!**

**TaintedMuse1804, thank you for your encouraging reviews! I was panicking when I submitted the first chapter! And don't you fret, Amelia has some tricks up her sleeve.**

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John thought he had seen a lot in his life. Between Afghanistan and watching his best friend throw himself off of the roof of St. Bart's only to reemerge three years later, he was convinced that nothing could surprise him anymore. So it is truly astounding that John will later remember his disbelief while watching Sherlock carry his drugged sister into their flat. "Um, Sherlock, what do you have there?"

John watched as Sherlock gently placed Amelia onto the couch and push a curl out of her face. "Clearly, John, this is an unconscious woman. I had hoped that your powers of deduction picked up that much."

"Yes, but why is she unconscious?"

"Mycroft felt that she was too upset to face traveling across an ocean, so he gave her a small injection."

"Mycroft drugged his own sister?!" John's jaw had dropped so far, he was amazed that he could even enunciate his words.

Sherlock stalked to his room. "Yes, he drugged her, it was harsh. You acting indignant is not going to change that." He paused at his door and looked at John, his face betraying the stress and worry that was running though his head. "Just make sure she is fine, I don't know how much he gave her and if she, if it turns out, just...make sure she is ok. Please." With that, he stepped into his room and shut the door.

John looked at the sleeping Amelia, "I don't know what all happened in that ridiculous family of yours, but if you being drugged causes Sherlock Holmes to stumble over his words, then I better take extra good care of you."

As Amelia dreamed, she began to remember all of the faces. All of the people she has killed. Anyone else could reason that she only killed those who did evil things. But Amelia knew that evil lived in everyone. Not one person could honestly say that they have never hurt another, never pushed someone else down for their own gain. She killed because she was good at it. She was particular about her targets because she did not want to get involved in the politics of war. All of the Holmes children were gifted with the art of deduction, but Amelia's was slightly different. She could read people's emotions and by doing so, could accurately predict what was to come. A seemingly random Japanese businessman's death could cause utter chaos, a Butterfly effect, if you will. Amelia wanted the deaths of her targets to have a minimal global impact. Mycroft may believe that caring was a disadvantage, but Amelia did not agree. To not care could put a person at more risk. Eventually, the person will begin to care about something and by doing so, opens the door to be haunted by previous choices.

Despite her cautious approach to killing, there was one that will haunt Amelia until she takes her last breath. _Standing on the Fort Pike Bridge in between New Orleans and Slidell, Amelia and Irene face each other. Amelia remembers the tears, the trembling hands, and the pleas. "Please don't make me do this. There is another way, I know it."_

_A head shakes slowly. "No more running, no more hiding, no more disguises." A single blow. A splash into Lake Pontchartrain. Amelia remains standing over the edge, wondering what impact this will make. The Woman's legacy will continue, even though she is dead._

Amelia shoots up from the couch, tears streaming down her face. "Hey now, you are alright, but please sit down. I want to make sure that the effects of whatever Mycroft gave have worn off."

Looking over to the short, blonde man sitting in the chair opposite from the couch, Amelia quickly deduced him. _5'6 but remains seated because he knows that I am taller than him and does not want to draw attention to that fact. He is uncomfortable with his height and makes up for it by staying physically fit, ex-military as well so working out is nothing new to him. He looks concerned but not frightened, as if he cares for my physical health and is not worried that I am violent or insane. Must be a doctor. He is sitting comfortably in the chair, clearly is his favorite spot in the flat. Judging from the body parts and microscope in the kitchen, this is Sherlock's place, so the man with me is his flatmate. Someone had mentioned a blogger by the name of Dr. John Watson, who lives with Sherlock and is his partner in crime solving._

"Nice to finally meet you, John. I am guessing that I am somewhat less terrifying than some of the other things that Sherlock has brought back into this flat?" Amelia held her hand out.

John does not even try to look surprised. _He knows enough about Sherlock and Mycroft to understand how the Holmes' minds work. Sherlock must trust him_. "Yeah, he does like to bring home the random body part." He started, running his hand through his hair. "It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't stick them in the oddest spots, like under my bed."

"Trying to see how the body decomposes under different places. It does come in handy to know that as many bodies are not found in the places they died and/or have been kept." Amelia keeps her eyes on John to see how far she can go with this conversation before he loses eye contact.

John, much to her dismay, smiles and nods at her. "Good point, I guess I never thought of it like that." He beckons to the couch. "Now, please, sit down so I may examine you."

Amelia grimaced. "Can I just tell you my symptoms and you just sit there, nice and far away?" She smiled sweetly to help encourage John to see her point.

It didn't work. "Sorry" said John "I need to be close to see your pupils and take your pulse, among other things. And if you are like your brother at all, you will just tell me what you think I want to hear so I leave you alone. " Amelia laughed and sat down

"Speaking of my brother, where is he?"

"Sulking in his room, I imagine." John sat beside Amelia and began to check her vitals. "So, tell me about growing up in the Holmes' household. Sherlock won't and I prefer not to talk to Mycroft about it."

"Well, who honestly wants to talk to Mycroft about _anything_?" Amelia breathed a sigh of relief when John finished his examination. He moved back to the chair and offered her some tea. Amelia did not even notice it sitting there. Mentally kicking herself, she continued on with her story. "Alright, so growing up with the Holmes-I did not see much of my parents. They really wanted nothing to do with me. I don't think they disliked me, it was more of a sense of bafflement. My mother could not understand how she birthed a daughter and I guess that I did not help matters. Mycroft was the golden child, the one to follow in Father's legacy. Sherlock and I were the wild ones, by comparison. Looking back, we just acted like children, but that was unacceptable in their eyes."

John began to look nervous. "How did they treat you?" Amelia could tell what his real questions were: _Did they beat you? Did they hurt Sherlock?_

"It wasn't as if we lived in fear. Our parents just couldn't be bothered to pay attention to us. They left it to the grossly overpaid nannies, who all tended to just sit on their asses and watch crap telly. Sherlock and I just did our own thing, well, until he went off to Uni and later rehab." Amelia could tell that John noticed the slight changes to her accent, but did not want to bring it up. "I stuck around a few more years, became friends with the wrong people, and had to escape them when it all caught up to me. I doubt if my parents even noticed that I had left. And that is the long and short of it."

Amelia stood up. "I need some air." She started towards the door.

"Just one more question."

Rolling her eyes, Amelia looked back. "What?"

"You just gave me a lot of personal information and you barely know me. Why?" Amelia smirked and John was struck by how much she looked like Sherlock.

"Simple. That was the boring part of my life. Now, if you want to know more, I'm afraid you will have to do it the old fashioned way and seduce me first." Amelia winked and strode out the door before John could have a chance to recover from choking on his tea.


	4. The enlightening walk

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**As always, I own nothing but Amelia!**

Sherlock chuckled dryly as he heard Amelia's parting words to John. _She still has to have the last word in. _ As soon as the front door shut, Sherlock watched her start down Baker Street. He called Mycroft. "Don't worry, brother, I can see her on the CCTV." Mycroft stated without an obligatory greeting. "And from the American gesture she has given me, she knows that I am watching her as well. I guess she lost all sense of manner since being abroad."

"So that is your great plan? Watch her on a screen? What if Moriarty grabs her, are you just going to watch that as well?"

"I have my men on her, fret not, although I do think that some extra company is needed to help settle Amelia back in." Mycroft's tone was deceptively light.

_This cannot be good. Who the hell did Mycroft have in mind?_ Sherlock could only think on one person and he hoped, for his sake, that he was wrong. "I'm her brother; I think that I can help her enough."

"But that would require you to actually speak with her, wouldn't it?" Mycroft continued. "The sooner she is comfortable with living here again, the sooner she can help us finish this case."

Sherlock stared down the road, he could no longer see Amelia, but he knew exactly where she was going. "I don't want her getting involved, Mycroft. The only reason why I went with you to get her was because you were convinced that she was no longer safe. Had I known what you were planning…"

"Do not try to be stupid, Sherlock, it does not suit you" sneered Mycroft. "You knew exactly what was to happen."

Instead of replying, Sherlock hung up. _She should have just stayed away. _He thought morosely.

Amelia knew better than to try to run on her first day back. She deliberately stayed in sight of security cameras. _Yes, Mycroft, I know you are watching._ Extending her hand upwards, Amelia raised her middle finger. _And I know about your minions on the damn rooftops too. Jackass._ Amelia had never felt so frustrated. _All I wanted was a simple walk and to have some alone time. Mycroft never gave a damn about me when I still lived here and now he practically stalking me. Why?_

A sudden realization made Amelia stop in her tracks. _That son of a bitch isn't concerned for my safety; he wants to use me for his plan._ Amelia had never met this Moriarty character, but from what Mycroft and Sherlock were saying about him, she preferred to keep far away. Amelia wondered if either brother knew that she regained consciousness on the plane, but tried to fake her drugged sleep so she could eavesdrop. By doing so, she learned about Moriarty's games with Sherlock, which resulted in a building exploding, as well as his faked death and the brothers' theories on how Moriarty managed to fake shooting himself in the head. _Given that it happened four years ago, Moriarty could survive a bullet to his frontal lobe or a grazed bullet to the side of the head. Frontal lobe damage, when a person doesn't die, could mean changes in personality and an increase in impulsivity and aggression. Which, in Moriarty's case, can only help him and make things difficult for Mycroft and Sherlock._

Giving up on her walk, Amelia turned around and headed back to 221B Baker Street. Right before she walked into the flat, she turned around and looked at the nearest security camera. Amelia smirked and saluted. _Rest easy, Mycroft, my escape won't be as messy as you fear._

Amelia entered the flat and walked up the stairs. She could already hear that the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, was scolding Sherlock. Something about not being his housekeeper. _Mrs. Hudson, really, it would be more effective if you were not making breakfast for us while you were saying that._ Though, the last meal Sherlock made for Amelia caused severe enough stomach cramps that her parents almost considered taking her to a doctor. Almost. Now standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Amelia observed Sherlock and John's interactions with their landlady. _The three of them seem to be involved in a pseudo-mother/children relationship. Good for Sherlock, he finally has a mummy who cares._ Plastering a charming smile on her face, Amelia made her presence known. "That smells amazing! You must be Mrs. Hudson. John has told me so much about you. Please, sit down, though. It isn't fair to have a landlady making food for us. I can finish up." Amelia shot John a look. _Just roll with it. _Luckily, John understood and sheepishly smiled at Mrs. Hudson, who looked delighted with him.

"Well now, that is a first! You must be Amelia. Yes, Sherlock was just telling me that you were coming for a visit. And never you mind about breakfast, I've got it all taken care of. Why aren't you a little thing? I better feed you extra, don't want you looking like Sherlock, and men do appreciate some lovely curves on a woman." Amelia looked down at herself. At 5'9 and more than her fair share of "lovely curves" hiding the muscles of a fighter, Amelia was quite certain that she will never achieve the lanky look of her brother.

Mrs. Hudson pushed a cup of coffee towards Amelia. "He also said that you have been living in America, so I thought that you would prefer coffee instead of tea."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John and Sherlock hiding mischievous smiles. She looked at the cup of coffee. Bracing herself for the inevitable, Amelia took a drink of what she assumed was some terrible coffee.

It was worse than she could have imagined. How could coffee be both too strong, too weak, and have the consistency of mud?

Fighting the urge to vomit, Amelia swallowed the vile liquid and smiled at Mrs. Hudson. "This coffee is delightful! Thank you, but you do not have to go through the trouble of making this for me. I am still a tea lover at heart." Mrs. Hudson looked relieved and Sherlock looked impressed. Amelia gathered all the strength she had and took another sip. _This is going to be a long meal._ Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson did not stay much longer, saying something about catching up on her shows. As soon as the door shut, John took the coffee cup from Amelia and poured it down the sink. "I have to hand it to you, Amelia, that is the most someone has actually drunk of Mrs. Hudson's coffee. Poor Lestrande, he'll be most disappointed to lose the award."

Amelia scooped up as much food as she could to get that awful taste out of her mouth. "I would be happy to let him attempt a rematch. More so, I would actively let him win."

The rest of breakfast was uneventful. Amelia and John ate while chatting about what had changed in London since Amelia left. Even Sherlock managed to utter some complete sentences. Amelia felt almost human until Sherlock threw a towel at her. "You will find the bathroom approximately three feet behind me."

_And good feeling gone._ "So?"

"Have you looked at yourself today? Dear god, sister, I was surprised people did not mistake you for an escaped mental patient."

To prove Sherlock wrong, Amelia went into the bathroom and peered into the mirror. After a scream of disgust, Amelia stormed out of the bathroom and pointed at John. "You let me out of the flat looking like this? Thanks, dickhead."

John's face was the picture of incredulousness. "How did I become the arse?"

"Sheer birthright!" screeched Amelia. "Where the hell is my shampoo? Did you numb nuts deliberately forget to pack all of the essentials that a female needs?

Sherlock smirked "Now, Amelia, I don't know what they taught you in America, but I know that you have better insults than that."

John faced Sherlock "It's like you enjoy adding salt to the wound." John took out his phone and shot off a quick text message.

"John, who are you texting? That is the fifth message that you have sent off."

"You'll find out soon enough, Sherlock."

"Jawn! Just tell me!"

"Sorry, numb nuts, you'll just have to be surprised. And you don't even have to wait that long, they are on their way."


	5. All too-honest conversations

Amelia frantically looked through her bags, hoping there was something remotely useful that she could use for her shower. _Who the hell taught these idiots how to pack? No toiletries whatsoever, but they managed to include a broken iPod and an ill-fitting t-shirt that I stopped wearing 6 years ago. _There was a knock at the door and John's voice rang out. "Honestly, Amelia, you do not look as bad as Sherlock said. Ah, shit, I mean, you look great, just tired. Jesus, that isn't much better. Hang on. There is someone stopping by who is bringing you some supplies."

Opening the door, Amelia peered out. John had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry, I guess I am not used to comforting a woman who isn't in the middle of a medical crisis. I don't suppose that your arm has magically become dismembered? I can handle that."

Amelia smiled. "I understand. It's hard for me too; I usually get very awkward around overly emotional people. Typically, if I act irate enough, they don't notice my discomfort."

"Seems like a normal reaction when you realize that you were raised by a very unemotional family." John looked Amelia in the eye and held her gaze. Amelia found herself staring back. _His eyes are so kind. It's like he is incapable of having a single judgmental thought. Wait, how long have we been staring at each other? _Amelia cleared her throat and stepped back. "I think I should wait in here until the emergency provisions arrive."

Nodding, John stepped back as well. "Right." He shook his head as if he was trying to shake out his thoughts. _Sherlock's sister, Sherlock's sister, Sherlock's sister. She is really pretty. Fuck._

Amelia almost began to congratulate herself on her self-preservation when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror again. _Are you kidding me? How did I forget that I was not wearing trousers?_

Ten, long, weird, and slightly embarrassing minutes later, there was a knock at the door. John leapt up and opened the door. Sherlock was close behind him, mostly because he wanted to see if his suspicions were correct. Unfortunately for him, he was right. John grinned at the visitor. "Hello, Molly." He then glared at Sherlock. "Say hi to Molly, Sherlock."

"Hullo" murmured Sherlock, already on his way back to his room.

"I'm glad you and Mycroft called. Did they actually drug someone and take her, against her will, across the Atlantic?" Molly groaned at John's nodding head. "That poor woman. Wait, is she another one of Sherlock's, um, acquaintances?"

"It is a long story, but Amelia is Sherlock and Mycroft's sister. No sense of 'acquainting' in this situation." _Nope, none at all. Damn it._

Molly walked over to the bathroom door. Knocking gently, Molly shook a bag. "Hi Amelia, my name is Molly. I heard that you were in need of some bathroom necessities."

As the door opened, Molly caught a glimpse of dark and wildly curled hair, pale skin, and a blue eye. _My goodness, she looks just like a female version of Sherlock._ Amelia stuck her arm out. "It is nice to meet you, Molly, I appreciate the supplies. If you could give me a bit, I can make myself presentable for the general public." Molly handed the bag over and started down the hallway towards Sherlock's room. "I don't think that is a good idea, Molly. Sherlock has been through a lot in the last day or so, he is trying to sort all this out."

"It will be fine, John. I just want to quick say hello."

Amelia left the bathroom, feeling practically breezy. _I already like this Molly. She can pick out some quality merchandise. _Looking around, she could tell something was off. Molly was sitting stiffly on the couch and John was in his usual chair, his jaw set. Sherlock stood, looking slightly like a cat that caught the canary only to realize that the bird was friends with a large dog. "There are three things I want to know right now. First and foremost, what time is it and why did Mrs. Hudson feed me breakfast at night? Also, Sherlock, what did you say to Molly?"

At first, everyone remained silent. Finally Sherlock spoke. "Between our horrendous layover, you remaining unconscious, and then spending over an hour and a half in the bathroom, it is 11pm. Mrs. Hudson was excited about the idea that we were having an extra guest; unfortunately, the only main meal that she likes to cook for others is breakfast, so that explains the eggs and coffee at an inappropriate time. And why do you think that it was _me_ that said something offensive to Molly?"

Sherlock turned around to see Amelia glowering at him. "Fine, I might have been slightly annoyed that Molly disturbed me so I might have pointed out that she has a pattern in her dating relationships which includes choosing men who are emotionally unavailable. Her last relationship just ended, bit of a record, that one. It took 4 lunch dates and a post-work drink for him to grow tired of her relentless attempts of getting him to feel. Clearly, there is someone who she is still pining for that fits that description."

Even Amelia looked at Sherlock like he was an idiot. "Seriously, Sherlock? Have you still not remembered the Christmas party?" John shot Molly an empathetic look.

"I deleted that party from my memory. Nothing worth keeping."

"Ok, that's it. Molly, grab your jacket. We're going out. Sherlock, when I get back, I honestly hope that you have figured out the 12 different ways that you have made an ass of yourself." Amelia grabbed Molly's arm and traipsed outside. "Know any good pubs around?"

After a short walk, Amelia and Molly found themselves at a nondescript bar. Amelia looked at the three elderly men at the bar and the bottle blond bartender. _Finally, a drinking establishment that I can truly relax in. _Relaxing into a booth, Amelia looked at Molly for her drink. "First drink is on me, what's your poison?"

Molly, finally no longer looking like she witnessed a puppy beating, asked for a white wine. "Seriously? Look around, sweetie, the only white wine you are going to get is going to come out of a box. I'll get you a whiskey old fashioned, you'll love it, I promise."

When Amelia returned with the drinks, Molly took a tentative sip. "Actually, this is quite good. I wouldn't have minded boxed wine, though. They really have made some improvements to it."

"Why are you defending the quality of wine here? No offense to cardboardeaux everywhere, but you were just vastly insulted and then verbally coddled by Sherlock and John Watson, respectively. Situations like this call for hard liquor and massive bitching." Amelia took a deep drink and continued. "And since we are on the topic of settling, why did you let Sherlock talk to you like that?"

Molly shrugged, "I guess I am used to him making deductions like that. He can't help himself sometimes."

Amelia had to sit on her hands to prevent herself from slapping Molly. "I make deductions like that all the time, but I don't rattle off personal information about my friends just to hurt them because I was _annoyed_ that they wanted to say hello to me. He will feel badly about this, but you really need to demand respect from him. Not just after he is a jerk, all the time."

Molly shrugged "He is getting better about it, before I helped him fake his death, he did tell me that I counted."

Amelia gaped at Molly "Can't you see a kiss-off when it comes around? You count, Molly. That means that you should stop wasting your time, pursuing men who act like you don't. Sherlock included. I have known you for about 10 minutes and can already tell that you are freakishly smart, not crazy, you are well-read, and you can keep up in almost any conversation. That burn on your arm is not from work, but from your oven, so you can cook. Dear god, woman, you are a catch. So instead of hoping that the residential bad boy will change for you as long as you put up with his abuse, maybe you should open your damn eyes and pay attention to the quality men who are dying to be with you. You. Freaking. Count."

"You think I can't? Name one guy that you just described that will give me the time of day." Molly's face steadily grew more red, giving away the intense emotions she was feeling despite her soft voice.

Amelia immediately jerked her thumb behind her. "Salt and pepper hair to my 5 o'clock. He keeps looking over here, hoping to catch your eye."

Molly smiled and looked at the table. "That is Detective Inspector Lestrade. He keeps looking over here because he is hoping to be introduced to you and see if you are anything like your brother."

"Then why the hell does he keep looking at you? If he just wanted to meet me, he would have walked over. Seriously, Molly, why can't you believe that you deserve a good guy?"

Molly's eyes raised and looked into Amelia's. "You first."

_Damn it. _


	6. The night where everything came together

**Hi folks! Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! And thanks, BlackPetals23 for the head's up on my spelling error. I can't believe I misspelled Lestrade! I'm surprised I was not carried away by several pissed off fangirls in a van.**

**So...I did not intend for this chapter to be as long as it was. But I did want to add the extra moments between John and Amelia instead of hurrying through.**

**As always, let me know what you think! And no, I still do not own Sherlock or any of the characters from the BBC show. Polishing up my resume, though, if a job change is possible :)**

Sherlock found himself pacing his flat, yet again. _These women are going to be the death of me. _Looking at the clock, Sherlock called out "John, it is now 2:30 in the morning. Can we please find them? I really don' t trust that my dear sister is not talking Molly into helping her plan a great escape."

John looked up from his laptop. "Isn't that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Why on earth are you talking about kitchen utensils?"

"It's just a saying, Sherlock."

"It's a terrible one, can we get them now?"

"No."

"Jaaaawwwwwnnnn!"

"Sherlock, why are you so concerned? When Amelia is here, you hide in your room and when she is gone, you mope and whine until she comes back. What is going on?"

Instead of answering, Sherlock threw himself on the couch. Crossing his arms and slightly pouting, he began to look like a small child instead of a 37 year old consulting detective. "I don't know why I thought you could understand. You are too busy mooning over her to be aware of the convoluted nature of this reunion. Look at yourself, you have changed twice, putting yourself in what you think is your most flattering jumper. What you don't realize is that it makes you look ridiculous. You are trying to fool me by appearing busy blogging, but I know that you have rewritten the same sentence exactly 12 times, three of those rewrites are because you wrote Amelia's name instead of mine, which I am trying to not be incredibly insulted by. Every time you hear a woman's voice, your eyes immediately look to the door, you are waiting just as anxiously as I am." Sherlock tilted his head back and covered his face with his hands out of sheer frustration.

_Does he really think that he can distract me with his deductions? _Leaning forward, John softly said "Sherlock, it is alright to have conflicting feelings about this. You are right, though, Amelia coming back is complicated. She did not return by choice and she will soon be immersed in whatever Mycroft is planning. You know it is going to be dangerous, so you want to keep her far away to protect her. Right now, you have all these memories of the two of you. You were close and she left suddenly. You have missed her but you still feel hurt that she abandoned you."

Sherlock slowly looked back at John. "Times like this, I regret teaching you how to read people."

The sound of footsteps filled the silence. "Ah, looks like the girls are back." John smiled. "Was the wait really that bad?"

Moments later, Molly and Amelia burst through the door. Sherlock took one look at them "For god's sake, you two are drunk."

Amelia glared at her brother. "Oi, aren't you the buzzkill?"

"Now it is obvious why you chose to not partake in the States. Good to hear that you never lost your accent, dear sister" smirked Sherlock.

"Boring! I need to crash. Molly, are you staying here tonight?" Before Molly could answer, Amelia grabbed her arm and started toward Sherlock's room.

Sherlock ran after the drunken duo and planted himself in the doorway to his bedroom. "Oh no you don't! To John's room, you go, both of you, go on." He pushed them gently towards the stairs and rolled his eyes at their slow progress.

"Hey Molly….MOLLY!"

"What?"

"D'you prefer to be the big spoon or the little spoon?"

Aside from slipping back into her native accent, Amelia also avoided liquor because she would always suffer a bout of insomnia. After trying to sleep for about 3 hours, she gave up and walked downstairs. Upon entering the living room, Amelia met the eyes of a rather surprised looking John. "I thought you would be sleeping it off." John said.

"I wish I could be, are you trying to get some rest? I could go for a walk instead. It'd be safe as I have the British government watching me." Though, instead of putting on a jacket, Amelia perched on the arm of the couch.

"No, it's fine. I also am finding myself unable to sleep. I would appreciate the company." John smiled and patted the couch cushion. "The actual seat of the couch is much more comfortable than the arm, I assure you."

Amelia slid onto the cushion. Her shorts rode up higher than she anticipated. John found himself unable to take his eyes off of her bare legs. Amelia silently groaned. _Shit, what do I do? If I pull them back down, he'll think that I am uncomfortable and then it'll get awkward. Oh hell, it's already weird; at least I can relax a little more. _With a sheepish smile, Amelia adjusted her shorts. "Sorry. I'm a little too used to living on my own."

Trying not to look disappointed, John shrugged. "Quite alright. Nice tattoos, by the way."

Amelia wracked her brain in an attempt to say something witty. She had nothing. _Okay, let's try to just say something. Anything at all. _Still, her stupid brain could not produce a single thought. John and Amelia found themselves without words, simply looking at each other. Finally, John blurted out "So, what do you do for a living?"

"Um, I'm between jobs at the moment. Apparently, moving back to a different country quickly changes your career." _Sorry John, there is no way in hell I am telling you what I really do._

John, to Amelia's great relief, took the conversation in a safe direction. "Well, then it is the perfect time to reevaluate where you should work. What did you want to do when you were growing up?" John hoped, desperately that Amelia did not find his question as pathetic as he did.

Amelia smiled "Actually, I wanted to be a pastry chef. The kitchen at Holmes manor was quite impressive and I found myself spending a lot of time down there. We had this cook, Stella, she was amazing. While she made dinner, she helped me with my homework and told me stories about insane chefs that she worked for in the past. There was one time, she walked in a head chef covering himself with lamb's blood and crying. Turns out, he was a highly superstitious man and credited this act as the reason why the restaurant was so successful."

Remembering the image of Stella vigorously pantomiming throwing blood on herself and sobbing, Amelia laughed and felt a wave of grief come over her. Stella passed away three years ago and Amelia never forgave herself for not coming back to say goodbye. John watched Amelia carefully, her story was hilarious, but there was something about it that made her sad. _Way to go, Watson. Bring up a painful memory. How do I fix this? _"So, were you any good at baking?" John mentally kicked himself. _Once upon a time, I considered myself to be a rational and intelligent human being. Guess that ended, damn those legs anyway. I ought to find the inventor of shorts and kick him in the shin._

Nodding, Amelia was glad to be able to answer more logically. _I always forget that whiskey makes me more emotional. _"I think so. I was never able to actually taste what I made. Sherlock would always steal the biscuits before they even cooled. Any Mycroft was no better."

"Why, what did he take?"

Amelia and John locked eyes. "Everything else." They said in unison before sniggering like schoolchildren.

John wiped a tear away. "So it was you that cursed Mycroft into a never battle of the fad diets!"

"Of course, and I bet he swears at me something fierce every time his trousers get too tight!" Amelia scrunched her face up and adopted the most posh voice she could imagine. "Curses, you silly sister! Why did your puddings and tea cakes have to be so divine? Now whenever I am upset, I cram my face like a proper wanker!"

Laughing so hard that he had to hold his side, John gasped "Oh my god, I can just see him doing that. We need to stop. We are going to wake Sherlock if we keep going on like this!"

"Good point" said Amelia. Though, when they looked at each other, both John and Amelia burst into a fit of giggles. They both took a moment to calm down. Finally, after 5 minutes, John felt like he could talk again without laughing. "It is good to hear that you lost your American accent. When you talk, it sounds more natural."

"I never was able to completely lose it, I guess. So, you're right, when I was in the States, I had to speak more carefully to not give away where I really was from."

John looked concerned. "Why did you feel the need to hide who you are?"

Amelia shrugged. "Long story, but it all boils down to self-preservation. I didn't want to be known as Amelia Holmes anymore. So I became Jane Foster, from Minneapolis, Minnesota." Her last statement was spoken with exaggeration so it sounded like "Jayne Fahster, from Minne-Aapolis Minnesooota"

Instead of finding the joke funny, John leaned over and held onto Amelia's hand. "I'm sorry that you needed to escape and lose who you are just to move on. You don't have to be that person anymore. From what I know about you, you seem pretty wonderful to me."

Looking into John's eyes, Amelia could not find the strength to move away. _So much for a lighthearted conversation._ John must have felt the same because they sat like that for quite some time, looking at each other and holding hands. Amelia ran her thumb along John's wrist and placed it on her leg. "John" she started.

And that is all she could say. John quickly leaned in and covered her mouth with his. Amelia was momentarily stunned, but recovered soon enough to respond to John's insistent kisses. Amelia moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. John moaned and started to move his hand towards Amelia's ribs.

Just as quickly as the kiss started, it ended. John stood up and rubbed his hands over his face. Amelia looked at him, trying to understand how he could stop so suddenly. John looked at Amelia, desire and shock read all over his face. Amelia saw a small streak of guilt in his eyes. _Why does he look guilty? Oh shit. _Amelia fixed John with a steely gaze. "So what is your girlfriend's name?"

John looked down, embarrassment seeping out of him. "Mary."

"And you've been together for?"

"About two years."

"She a nice girl, this Mary?"

"Yeah, she's very sweet and kind."

"I bet she is a teacher, am I right?"

"Preschool."

"Pure as snow, your Mary." Amelia stood up, grabbed her jacket, and walked towards the door. "Do give her my regards."

John followed. "Wait, Amelia." She turned. "I didn't ask for this. If I had known how I was going to feel about you, I would have ended it with her. I still can." John stepped forward. "What we can have will be incredible, just give it a chance."

_I always turn people dark. _Amelia shook her head and fought back tears. "No, John. Stay with her and forget about me. What we would have could never be considered incredible. There are parts of me that will scare and disgust you. Stay good, John." With that, she turned and walked downstairs.

John looked at her retreating back. "I don't believe you" he whispered.

Once outside, Amelia pulled out her phone. Cursing at her trembling hands, she carefully dialed Mycroft. He answered after the first ring. "Judging by the time, Amelia, you are either up incredibly early or have stayed up incredibly late. What do I owe this early call to? Because I know you would have never called me if some significant event did not happen."

"Shut up, Mycroft. I know you are planning something and I am in the middle of it. I'm coming over right now and you are going to tell me all of it. I will help you and once this is over, let me leave and get back to my life." Hanging up, Amelia waited for the inevitable car to pull up and take her to Mycroft's.

Mycroft gently put his mobile down. Staring into space, he murmured "It is my hope that once we finish this, you won't need to go back to that life, dear sister."

Anthea walked in. Never taking her eyes off of her Blackberry, she took a box of tissues and placed them by Mycroft's elbow. "The car has just picked her up." She then silently walked out the door.

Mycroft looked at the box in confusion. It wasn't until the first tear dropped on his desk that he realized why she put it there.


	7. A modest beginning to Jane Foster

**Yes, I know I just posted a chapter, but this story just poured out, so all you fine people get a 2 for 1 deal!**

**Still don't own Sherlock or other characters from the BBC show, but I do own all the characters in this chapter.**

**If the first and last lines of the chapter sound familiar, that is because it is lyrics from Lana Del Ray's "Summertime Sadness" and is put there as some foreshadowing.**

**Happy reading!**

_I just wanted you to know, that baby, you were the best._

Amelia tilted her head back in the seat and let her memories take over. She could not afford to waste time thinking about what happened between her and John. _There are bigger stories to finish. _ With that, she let herself remember.

2001 was supposed to be her year of reinvention. Indeed, she was no longer Amelia. For that, she felt safer. _He_ could not get to her. Life was harder, though. Amelia thought back to the cold yet grand meals that she shared with her distant family. How she always complained that the manor was too cold. Sleeping under an overpass in Seattle, Washington quickly put into perspective what the idea of too cold actually meant. Amelia snuck some blankets in the gaps between the Fremont Troll and the concrete. Most of the time, the blankets were still there when Amelia came back to sleep. To ensure that she would survive the night, Amelia learned to share spare clothes and other supplies with the other homeless. Amelia also was fast to learn that shelters were not much better. Theft was more common there than on the streets. She briefly considered joining a street family, but always felt uncomfortable with the leader/follower dynamic in most of them. So instead, she kept to herself and tried to help other loners. Of all the cities that she could have wound up in, Seattle was one of the better options. The citizens were uncommonly kind to the homeless population, to the point that Amelia could find a hot meal and near free services most days. One day, at the Outdoor Meal Site, Amelia was handed a flyer by a stranger. "What is this?" She asked, but the man had already walked away.

It turned out; the flyer was a list of potential jobs. Apparently, homeless or not, Seattle was hiring. Amelia was feeling restless as of late and began to fear that she may follow in Sherlock's path into addiction. Yes, a job would be an excellent idea. Soon after, she was hired as a personal care assistant to Gladys, an elderly woman who seemed to have some troubles keeping employees. Gladys had a tendency to verbally berate her personal aides. Her son, Rick, was becoming more concerned and thought that if he found a person who was emotionally tougher, they would be able to handle his mother.

Amelia's first day was the only time Gladys tried to chase her off. Amelia walked in the front door and found Gladys sitting in her living room, watching the Today Show. Gladys had the look of a once-tall woman, shrunken by osteoporosis, with snow white hair held back with a clip. Gladys still had the physique of a dancer, which told Amelia that she knew how to take care of herself. Almost despite the appearance of capability, Gladys was clothed in a pair of smart charcoal trousers and a black blazer, but Amelia could tell that instead of dressing already, Gladys had simply not changed her clothes in at least two days. Gladys frowned at her new employee. "What the hell are you staring at, asshole? You think that you can just stand there and get paid?"

Amelia was unmoved. "Perhaps, old woman, if you gave me something to do, I wouldn't be standing around. You think I like smelling your used Depends while you watch some crap news show?"

Gladys froze. No one ever dared to talk to her like that. But then she saw the mischievous glint in her new aide's eyes. _Finally, someone I can be myself around._ She smiled and gestured towards the kitchen. "I'm sure that my son left a list of tasks to do. Let me know when it is time for you to get me ready for the day, I will talk you through it."

"If you would like, Gladys, we can do that now. You smell pretty ripe."

"Don't you dare interrupt me during my show! Go on and get the cleaning done. But do avoid the middle cupboard in the bathroom. I may or may not have hidden something unpleasant in there for the staff that I really hate."

Amelia smirked. "Noted" was all she said before she got to work.

Two hours later, Amelia found 3 other traps that Gladys placed. She did not mind the smeared feces on the refrigerator, but the hungry cat in the drawer bothered her slightly. After feeding the cat, Amelia found the animal to be quite friendly and carried her out to Gladys. "Feel free to continue your hazing, Gladys, but please, leave the cat alone. Trapping her in the drawer was just cruel."

The instant paling of Gladys' face told Amelia that it was not planned. "What do you mean Snowball was in the drawer? How did she get in there?"

_Dementia._ Amelia thought to herself. _That is why she chases off her personal aides; she does not want them to know. Gladys used to be a strong woman. She even owned her own business. A lack of wedding ring or pictures of a husband suggests that she was a single mother and ran the business on her own._ _And now, she has to hire someone to help her in the shower and make sure she doesn't kill her cat. _"If you did not put her in there, I think there must be a hole or gap in the cabinetry. She must have gotten herself stuck." Amelia's quick thinking paid off. Gladys nodded, but continued to hold Snowball close.

Amelia began to walk out of the room. "What did you say your name was?" Gladys peered out around the reclining chair.

"Jane, my name is Jane Foster."

"It is nice to meet you, Jane. I think I am ready for my shower now."

Amelia assisted Gladys in the shower and found that, in addition to early dementia, Gladys had suffered a broken hip and had a hard time stepping into bathtub. As she was bathed, Gladys closed her eyes and muttered "I would kill for an actual bath, but damn my hip, I can't get up and down like I used to."

Without stopping the process of shampooing Gladys' surprisingly long hair, Amelia responded "You still can, I am here, so I can help you out."

"Please, the fact that I need your help is bad enough. Now you think I want you to pick my naked ass up to get out of a tub? No thank you."

Keeping her voice nonchalant, Amelia continued "Well, they do have those handy ones with a seat and door. You wouldn't even need to worry about how to stand up from the bottom of the tub. Just pop the door open, start the water, and sit like you are now."

Gladys took a moment to consider Amelia's proposal. "I didn't think of that. But I doubt my cheapskate son would pay for it."

"Well, your son has had to pay much more than the average wage for a personal aide. Perhaps if I offered a lower amount, he would get you the tub with the money he would save."

Stunned, Gladys looked at Amelia. "Jane, you barely know me and you are offering to take a pay cut just so I can have a better tub?"

Amelia grinned "I would work here for free if it meant that you would stop being a pain in the ass."

Barking out a laugh, Gladys grinned back. "I wouldn't count on that, dearie. Being a difficult woman makes life MUCH more interesting."

The rest of the day went very smoothly. Amelia and Gladys spent some time on the porch, watching children play at the nearby playground. Actually, Amelia watched and laughed at Gladys as she made fun of them and their "idiot parents who can't stop looking at their damn phones."

"Trust me on this one, Jane. One day, people are going to be so addicted to those things, they will go out to dinner in a group and not know what anyone is wearing." Gladys looked forlorn momentarily and then shook her head. "Good thing I won't live long enough to see that."

That evening, Amelia had fixed dinner for herself and Gladys and gotten Gladys into bed. As she was gathering her belongings, a young man walked through the front door and froze at the sight of Amelia. "Who the hell are you?" He had a deep voice, though it was full of skepticism at the moment.

"Jane, Gladys' new PCA. And you are?"

"Alex, Gladys' grandson. You actually lasted the whole day?" Now he looked at her, impressed. "No one has ever stayed the whole day."

"Well, I am not like most girls. Gladys is a great lady, but she doesn't change who she is to better suit others. That trait is rather admirable."

Amelia found it hard to look away from Alex. At 6'1, he had a muscular frame and a jawline that looked like it was carved out of stone. His green eyes looked icy, but his shaggy blonde hair softened his features enough for him to look approachable. In other words, he was damn attractive. Amelia was never more appreciative to have showered that morning, even if it was at the YMCA locker room. Her hair was clean and full of loose curls and her face, even without makeup, was clear. _Bad idea, Holmes. The old lady is just starting to not mind having you around, don't screw it up._ With that thought, Amelia finally looked away. "Sorry to say, Gladys is already sleeping. If you don't mind me, I have to go."

"You aren't staying in the apartment? You must have a place, with your…boyfriend?"

"No boyfriend, what do you mean the apartment?"

Alex smiled, "It is actually part of the package deal to tempt people to stay longer. There is a free studio apartment above the garage. Pretty sweet set-up: cable television, internet, and a lovely bathroom." At Amelia's raised eyebrow, Alex explained "I helped with the bathroom renovation. Lots of blood, sweat, and tears went into that. So I expect you to appreciate its beauty."

Amelia took a mental inventory of the supplies that she left at the bridge. _Just my blankets and some odd canned foods. Nothing that Raggedy Bob won't mind having. _Amelia smiled. "I guess I should be getting settled into my new home."

For the next year, Amelia found herself in a pleasantly simple life. Gladys had completely accepted Amelia into her family and she found a good friend in Alex. Despite herself, Gladys appeared to be happier and healthier since Amelia's arrival, even though her dementia was slowly progressing. On her good days, Gladys would hint about grandchildren, but Amelia would merely crack a joke about not being trusted around small humans and would quickly walk away. The only person who Amelia was uncertain of was Rick, Gladys' son. Sure, he was nice enough to get Gladys that fancy tub without lowering Amelia's pay; actually, he gave her a raise for her foresight. But something about Rick made Amelia's skin crawl, especially when she noticed that the relationship between him and Alex, his own son, was strained at best. One night, she gathered up enough courage to ask Alex about it.

Alex did not look surprised, in fact, he had been expecting this question for some time. "Honestly, Jane, I knew you knew, look at how observant you are with Grandma, it's like you are able to predict her needs before she can. So yes, I was aware that once you saw Rick and me in the same room, you would be suspicious."

He settled back in the chaise lounge. It was a warm September evening, so he and Amelia were taking advantage of the last few good nights on the porch. "I am pretty sure that Rick is only around until she dies. Sometimes, he just acts like this parasite. That is why Grandma is so eager to die, just to be rid of him. Two years ago, I caught him taking money out of her purse. The asshole is in charge of her entire financials and yet, he lifts money out of her purse?"

Amelia thought about the situation. "She must be wary of him and put restrictions on her bank accounts. I think that, depending on the bank, you can confine the withdrawals to just paying specific bills. Plus there are automatic payments now, maybe she hopped on that pretty quickly and your dad is now stuck."

Alex nodded. "That makes sense. I am just glad that I am nothing like that creep. I lived with my mom for most of my life, but she made sure that I had a close relationship with Grandma. When she died four years ago, Grandma immediately let me move in so I did not have to spend a single day with Rick."

Leaning forward and looking at Amelia intently, Alex said "Now, since I have told you all about my family skeletons, you get to tell me about yours."

"I'm afraid there is nothing to tell. My parents were farmers in Hinkley, north of the Twin Cities, mostly chickens and corn. Stoic folk, but that is to be expected when your grandparents were immigrants from Norway. They were disappointed that I never went to college, choosing to move out here instead. We talk occasionally, but there never is really much to say."

"So this is your dream job? Taking care of an old woman and living above her garage?" Alex beamed over at Amelia, who had to turn her head so he couldn't see her blush. _That damn smile._

"I am just glad that I can live on my own terms, I have simple expectations and so it is easy to meet them. Speaking of dream jobs, what exactly do you do for a living? It seems like you are gone for weeks at a time and then come back for an entire month before repeating the process."

Instead of answering, Alex moved over to Amelia's chair, bent down, and kissed her. He straightened back up "What were you asking me? I was too distracted staring at your mouth."

Amelia resisted the urge to giggle. "You know what? I completely forgot."

With that, Alex took her by the hand. "Let's go somewhere private and do what I have been dreaming of since the day I saw you in Grandma's living room."

And that was the last words that were said for the rest of the night.

Waking up the next morning, Amelia was pleasantly surprised to see that Alex had spent the night. He was laying on his side, behind her, one arm over her waist and a leg casually draped over her thigh. Alex also managed to sleep with his face buried deep in Amelia's hair. She unsuccessfully tried to get up without waking him. Tightening his grip on her waist, Alex whispered "Not so fast, it is too early for that nonsense." His voice was still coarse and full of sleep. "God, I love your hair" Alex happily nuzzled into Amelia's curls.

Amelia could not stop smiling, that is, until she saw the rose on her table. Forgetting that Alex was still there, Amelia got out of bed and walked towards the flower. She recognized it immediately, it was from _him_. He would always send a black rose as an apology whenever he did something bad. Amelia felt numb. _What did he do?_ Looking over at Gladys' house, her stomach heaved up and dropped. Amelia threw on clothes as fast as she could. "Jane, what is going on? Where did that flower come from?" Alex's confused voice rang out.

"Get dressed, I have to see if Gladys is ok." Amelia ran out of the door and down the stairs.

"Wait, if she is ok? Jane, talk to me!" Alex was right behind her.

Entering the house, Amelia knew that _he_ did something dreadful. Utter silence greeted them. Amelia looked at the clock, it was just after 8am. Gladys should be watching the news by now. She always woke up at 6, always. With dread building in her heart, she slowly made her way to Gladys' room. "Gladys, are you in there?" Amelia could not keep her voice from shaking. _Please, let me be wrong. Let it be that Gladys is just having a bad day and forgot that she watches the news in the morning._

Opening her door, Amelia knew that Gladys would never have a bad day again. Amelia's dear friend was hanging from her closet, tear tracks were visible on her cheeks. _She did not do this. _He_ killed her._ She could only watch as Alex ran into the room and tried to gently untie his grandmother from the clothing rack. "Alex, don't. We need to call the police and leave the scene undisturbed."

Alex did not seem to hear her. Amelia walked towards him, through her sobs, she managed to utter "I am so sorry, but we have to call the police."

Alex allowed Amelia to take his hand and guide him into the kitchen, where Gladys kept her phone. _She always insisted on a landline, she hated cell phones with a passion._ With shaking hands, Amelia dialed 911 and spoke clearly "I need the police, I found my employer dead in her room." After giving the operator the address, Amelia hung up and succumbed to grief, sinking to the floor and sobbing.

Just barely audible over her crying, Amelia could hear Alex muttering "Grandma, please forgive me, I didn't think they could follow me here. I will find those bastards who did this to you."

"Ma'am? We're here." Interrupting her thoughts and forcing her into the present, Amelia opened her eyes and braced herself for will be the beginning of the end between her and Alex.

_I got my bad baby on my heavenly side. I know if I go, I'll die happy tonight_


	8. A Breakfast Meeting

Amelia took a moment to calm her heartbeat before exiting the car. She knew that Mycroft would see her anxiety immediately and assume it was connected with his plans. _After everything, _he_ is no longer the threat I thought he was_. Looking at Holmes Manor, Amelia was amused by Mycroft's attempts to connect her back to the family. She saw the curtain in the living room move to the side. "Jesus, Mycroft, have another slice of cake and chill out."

No longer able to postpone the inevitable, Amelia got out of the car, squared her shoulders, and walked into her childhood home. Not much has changed: some new furniture in the formal living room, the depressing paintings on the walls have been replaced with lighter watercolors, and most noticeable, the heavy drapes were drawn, causing light to pour into the old house. However, instead of making the rooms look brighter, the sunshine drew Amelia's attention to all of the cobwebs and dust that had accumulated. The sound of high heels on the hardwood caught Amelia's attention; Anthea walked up to her and smiled. "I hate to hurry you through the walk down memory lane, but everyone is waiting for you in the kitchen."

The two women walked briskly down the hall, towards the back of the house. Like meeting at the manor, Amelia knew that setting up in the kitchen, her once-loved sanctuary, was a deliberate move. Amelia opened the door to the kitchen and was surprised at the large group sitting at the breakfast bar. Mycroft sat at the far end with Anthea on his right side. _Naturally._ The detective with salt and pepper hair sat to Anthea's left. _What was his name again? Lestrade? I should make sure he calls Molly, she seemed really interested in him._ Sherlock sat directly across from Lestrade and next to John. _Oh hell, what is he doing here?_ John looked uncomfortable, choosing to stare at his hands. Amelia figured he was only here to make sure that Sherlock behaved himself and quickly decided to pretend that he didn't exist. _Imagine that he is a black hole. A hobbit-sized black hole, wearing flannel. A flannel-clad, hobbit-sized black hole. That is an amazing kisser. Get your shit together, Amelia. _

Amelia sat opposite of Mycroft, between Sherlock and Lestrade. Pretending to fix her hair, she exclaimed "Had I known to expect a party, I would have dressed up a little."

A small corner of Mycroft's mouth twitched-an equivalent of a belly laugh for a normal person. "Perhaps I should have let you do your own packing, was there a ball gown in your closet?"

"Actually, there are three. A girl can never be too prepared." Amelia shifted in her chair. All of these people staring at her was beginning to make her feel itchy. "Are you folks just going to sit there and stare at the witty banter between myself and Mycroft? Who is hungry?"

Lestrade, John, and Anthea looked perplexed. Sherlock scowled and said "don't worry about cooking, I can take you out after this."

"Now Sherlock, if our sister wants to make us something, who are you to turn it down?"

Sherlock's scowl deepened. "I just don't want to encourage this ridiculous gathering to take longer than it needs to. We don't need her help and we don't need food."

Amelia walked by John to get to the refrigerator. John stood up "Allow me to help." Before Amelia could snap at him to sit down, he leaned in close to her ear. "Please make something, I'm starved and Sherlock hasn't eaten since he brought you back" he muttered.

John finally looked her in the eye and Amelia was struck by all the emotions that were showing on his face. _I can't think about this right now._ _He is a black hole._ Amelia nodded and turned to see what she could make. "We have bacon and bread for toast. Anyone opposed to scrambled eggs? It's easier for bulk cooking." When no one spoke up, Amelia continued "Alright then, and just to be clear, everyone is eating." Amelia threw a hard look at Sherlock, who glared back. "Mycroft, please get started. One of my many genetic gifts is being able to cook and talk at the same time."

Clearing his throat, Mycroft addressed the group. "I'm sure we are all painfully aware of the long search for James Moriarty. My informant has told me that Moriarty has changed his tactics. Instead of pursuing Sherlock, he is now obsessed with finding Amelia. Now, we were quick enough to bring Amelia back before his men found her but now…."

"No."

Everyone turned to look at Sherlock. Mycroft sighed "Sherlock, we have already been through this. Moriarty will be able to spot any of my men and evade us like he has been doing for years."

"I can do this on my own again. I already weakened his connections and I assumed by doing this, you could finish the job. Your men are incompetent, Mycroft, but I am not letting Amelia get involved."

Amelia slammed down the mixing bowl that was in her hands. "I'm already involved, Sherlock. Moriarty found me. He never stopped looking for me. All the people that I have met and cared about were killed. By him." She took a deep breath. "This all started with me. It should be me ending it."

With that, she began to crack eggs in the bowl and quickly followed with some milk, salt, and pepper. "I don't understand why you guys thought that you were adequate protection for me. All you did was piss him off. The botched bomb hit on you, Sherlock, resulted in my boss being blown up in his own car. The cab driver? My house burned down. When he found out that you survived the fall, he killed my boyfriend. So all of you just shut the hell up." Amelia poured the egg mixture into the pan and turned the bacon. She then pointed at Lestrade. "Make yourself useful and toast that bread. And someone set the plates ready."

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but Amelia cut him off. "I don't even want to hear what you have to say, asshole. The only reason why I showed up was just to tell you that I would help, but I am not playing whatever charade you have concocted. I am doing this on my own. I. Got. This."

Everyone watched as Amelia sat down, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Are we done discussing this?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "That is all we needed to talk about as a group. You and I shall speak later."

"Nope. Not happening." Amelia opened her eyes and smiled. "Everyone, please get started before the food gets cold. Thank you, Lestrade, for making the toast."

Suffice to say, everyone promptly ate in silence. As soon as their last bites were taken, Lestrade and John found reasons to leave almost immediately. Anthea walked out of the kitchen without a word, just typing away at her Blackberry. Amelia watched her departure before turning to Mycroft. "You should really get her some flowers or a day off."

"Is this where you tell me that I have a very devoted PA and that I should reward my staff for doing an adequate job?"

"Nope, her mother is in the hospital. They just found a lump near her armpit and they are waiting on a biopsy to determine if it is lymphoma."

Mycroft swallowed hard. "I retract my previous statement. Now, may we please discuss how to approach the situation?"

Amelia almost threw her hands up in exasperation. "I already told you, Mycroft, I have this. Do not get involved more than you are."

"I cannot let you do this on your own, Amelia, if you let me, you can have any resource that you could ever need."

"That's enough, Mycroft" Sherlock started. "Amelia is not going to help if she has to do it on your terms. We've already bungled this up more than we realized." _I'm so sorry, Amelia, I did not know that he was taking his losses out on you._

Standing, Sherlock gently took Amelia's arm. "Come on, I think we're done here. Let me drive you back to Baker Street."

Amelia acquiesced and they walked to Sherlock's car. "Wait, when did you get a car?"

Sherlock grinned. "Who said it was my car? Now hurry up before Mycroft catches on what we are doing."

Holding back a laugh, Amelia jumped into the car. _It's like the Christmas when I was 14. Father and Mother insisted on holding that dull party and required Sherlock and I attend. We tried, we honestly did, but after an hour, we were ready to start shooting the wall….or the guests. I retreated to the library and was looking for my copy of _The Social Animal_ that father keeps telling me is 'far too advanced' when Sherlock burst in. "They will find you in a second if you stay here. I have a much better idea." His eyes were practically glowing with mischief. We snuck out of the window and Sherlock produced a set of car keys. "I found the nicest car of the bunch, let's go to London."_

Sherlock must have been remembering the same party because he ran his hand along the dashboard and said "I can't believe that I thought a Jaguar was the swankiest car ever, D'you think Mycroft will miss his Maserati?"

"At this point, I hope he loves this car so much that he polishes it with a diaper every evening and reads it bedtime stories." Amelia looked in the glove compartment. "Damn it."

Sherlock eased the car onto the main road. "Did Mycroft put a tracker on his car?"

"Nope" Amelia held up the wrapped gift with her name on it. "We were busted before we even got in."

Opening the card, Amelia read "Welcome back, sister. Please enjoy the gift and I will pick the car up at 221B Baker Street this evening. Please tell Sherlock to take it easy on the clutch, it is quite sensitive. He has gotten more spry in his advanced years."

Making sure he stomped on the clutch, Sherlock smirked. "I think he is trying to ensure that you won't run off again."

A tense silence fell over the car. Amelia tried to turn the radio on, but Mycroft had a personalized system installed and she could not figure out how to switch it over from the Bluetooth setting. Sitting back, Amelia looked at Sherlock. He appeared to be driving comfortably, but the whiteness of his knuckles and deepened crow's feet around his eyes suggested otherwise. "Well, since I can't figure out our distraction, should we talk about this?"

Sherlock remained silent for the better part of a mile. "I suppose we should." Turning quickly, he asked "Why did you leave?"

Amelia chose her next words carefully. "It was getting worse. There were the daily phone calls and strange men were watching me at school. He would not let up and, just like he is doing now, whenever you tried to get involved, it got worse. You got worse, Lock."

"How could I not get involved? You were the only family I cared about and you were in danger! If you hadn't run off, we could have solved this."

"Sherlock, I saw the track marks."

Sherlock slammed on the brakes and skidded over to the side of the road. Throwing on the brake, he turned in his seat. "How could you possibly know about that?"

"I'm not an idiot. You stopped eating for longer periods. You were constantly fidgeting and scratching and you wore long sleeves in hot weather. Even if I missed all of that, I might have caught on when I came over to visit you and you were passed out with a needle still in your arm. I thought you were dead, that he killed you. I called an ambulance and packed my bags."

Sherlock gaped at Amelia. "That was you? It was an overdose. I tried to stop for about a month, but then you said that one of the thugs tried to take you and it was too much for me to take. But leaving like that" Sherlock trailed off and bowed his head in shame.

"He knew, Sherlock. He called me that night and said that he wouldn't just watch you overdose anymore. If you would have relapsed one more time, he was going to kill you. That was his plan the whole time, torture me to weaken you. Weaken and kill you to isolate me before taking me." Amelia closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought of being under his thumb so young.

Sherlock sat in his seat, thinking. Suddenly, he unbuckled his seatbelt, moved closer to Amelia, and held out his arms. "Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

"It's called a hug. I hear siblings do this to comfort each other."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Knock it the fuck off."

"No. Time for a hug."

"You really are going to sit there until I join in on an embrace?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Amelia wrapped her arms around Sherlock, who did the same and tried to pat her back. "John did this to me once, it actually did help."

"Um, yeah, ok, I feel better. Can we stop now? I feel like you are trying to burp me."

"On one condition."

"Always a catch with you, what?"

"Please don't ever leave me like that again. I promise to stay clean, no matter what. I just can't bear the thought of you going."

Amelia pulled away and looked into Sherlock's eyes. "Okay."

Sherlock and Amelia pulled onto Baker Street and entered the flat. Amelia felt fatigued and went upstairs to finally sleep. Though Sherlock would never admit it out loud, he felt lighter and more happy knowing that he finally had his little sister back.

John returned home after a last minute shift at the clinic. Although he would like nothing better than to crawl into bed with a book, he decided to shower and go see Mary. _Maybe I should talk to Amelia first. _John shook his head; Amelia would be able to tell what his true intentions were. Her words kept ringing in his mind. _There are parts of me that will scare and disgust you. What could she have possibly done that would make her think that? _ _But then again, she said that Moriarty killed her boyfriend. She could just be protecting me from him, like she is doing with Sherlock and Mycroft. Yes, I should definitely talk to her._ John was about to pull out his mobile when he heard Sherlock yell incoherently upstairs. Remembering that Amelia would have been staying up there, John's heart sank as he ran up to his room.

He found Sherlock sitting in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth, his knees tucked against his chest. "Sherlock, what's wrong? Is it Amelia? Where is she?"

Sherlock lifted his hand up; he had been clutching a sealed letter. "I can't read it, please don't make me read it."

John opened the envelope and took out the piece of paper. Sitting next to Sherlock, he began to read.

_I have to do this on my own. _

_I don't know what Moriarty would do if he found out that you were helping._

_I meant it when I promised you that I would never leave you. I will return. _

_And I will return, alive. _

_Amelia._

* * *

**Special note to Jess-I hear that you like a cliffhanger end to the chapters. Muahahaha.**


	9. Just getting started

**Thanks, folks for the continued support! I originally planned for the end of the last chapter to just be a dream, but I really did not like where that was going so I had to scrap it. So here is the new, and hopefully improved, revision!**

**As always, please let me know what you think. And no, still don't own any of the characters from the BBC show.**

_Amelia slowly walked down the hallway to the hotel room that she and Alex were sharing. A strange foreboding sensation was locked between her shoulder blades. Amelia tried desperately to figure out what was odd about the same door that she walked through at least a dozen times before without an issue. Her eyes locked onto a small chip on the door frame, near the knob, almost like someone hit a hard object against it when they were trying to get inside. Not just trying to enter, trying to force their way inside. With shaking hands, Amelia took out her mobile and sent a text to Alex "Where are you?" His reply did not matter; just any response would prove that he was still alive. The walls were thin enough to hear the vibrating sounds of an incoming message on Alex's phone. Amelia listened for sounds of footsteps or a creaking of the cheap mattress that would indicate any movement in the room. Just silence. _

_Amelia shoved all of her emotions aside before unlocking the door and looking inside. Using logical eyes, she could tell that was a professional hit. Alex was lying in the bathtub, hands tied behind his back, a small red mark where a needle was stabbed in his neck to help detain him, and a single shot was fired into the back of his head. Amelia immediately backed out of the bathroom and reexamined the door. Alex had opened the door, distracted, recognized the person as a threat, and tried to slam the door shut. _It was someone that we never met Amelia_ realized. The butt of the assassin's gun must have dragged across the frame as he fought his way inside. The height of the scrape indicated that the assassin was at least 6 feet tall and judging from the lack of marks at the bottom of the frame, the attacker was stronger than Alex. Had it been a weaker person, they would have jammed their shoe between the frame and door to prevent getting locked out. _

_ The entire murder happened within six feet. Amelia looked towards the window and saw _his_ calling card. The black rose. This time, there was a card. On the front was calligraphy script "With Sympathy." Opening it, Amelia read "Time to stop this nonsense. That stupid gun-for-hire can only teach you so much. You are mine and I will take back what belongs to me. M."_

_Grief and rage began to bubble up inside of Amelia. She quickly threw the note in her bag, wiped down her prints, and left the room. Amelia had been using a disguise during the week that they were in Vegas to kill a mob snitch, so it was fortunate that once they found Alex's body, they would not be able to find her. Throwing her bags in the backseat, Amelia drove into the desert. When she was far enough out of town, she pulled over, got out, and vomited between sobs. When her entire stomach was emptied, Amelia continued to dry heave. She put a fist to her mouth and breathed deeply to calm her system down. Amelia wanted to scream and curse. She wanted to burn the entire city down until she found Moriarty's new hit man. But she knew that he was already gone. Standing up, Amelia closed her eyes. She pictured the death of Moriarty. Smiling, she started to piece together her plan. Amelia slowly plotted everything in reverse until it was all perfect. Soon, she made it to her next step. Opening her eyes, Amelia walked back to the car and put it in drive._

Three years later

Amelia gazed at herself as she put the last touches of makeup on. She saw the red dress, lying on the hotel mattress, her shoes right next to it. Three long years and she learned the name of the man who killed Alex, Sebastian Moran. Not only did she have his name, but she knew his routine inside and out. _It either takes someone who is incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to maintain a pattern like his. _When Moran was not off doing Moriarty's bidding, he appeared to be a man of simple tastes. After waking up and going to the café next door for breakfast, Moran went to the gym and spent three hours working on weights training, different fighting techniques, and cardio. Amelia knew he only ran on the treadmill so he could leer at women, but the management was too scared of him to do anything about it. Once the workout was completed, he went back home for about 8 hours, before taking a cab to the nearby strip club. Moran was a big fan of any new stripper, mostly because all of the veterans new to stay away from where he sat. He would find the right girl and pay for them to go into one of the private rooms for a more intimate dance. Amelia saw the bruises of the departing girls and knew what kind of intimacy Moran craved.

Amelia quickly dressed and walked out the door. Getting into the club was unbelievably easy, all it took was a wad of cash and the promise that tonight would be the last time they would see Moran. _The downfall of being the scariest person in the room is that no one will protect you._Amelia knocked on the back door. Marty, the bouncer answered. "Ginger has your costume. I don't think I need to tell you how to get his attention."

Simply nodding, Amelia stepped inside and made her way to the changing area. Marty grabbed her arm. "Thank you."

_Marty has the look of a man who has seen entirely too much in his life. Although he is practically a giant, Marty does not believe in violence. He probably talks drunks and other unruly folks out of the bar instead of throwing them out. Marty also has a 3 year old daughter and every time he sees Moran's work on one of the dancers, he goes home and sits in his daughter's room. He doesn't wake her up or even stand close to her. He just listens to her breathe._

"You all are helping me out with a huge problem as well, so no thanks are needed. Though, you have my number, if there are any more people like Moran that show up, just give me a call." Amelia flashed Marty a half smile and entered the changing room.

Ginger was waiting for Amelia, like Marty had said. Aptly named, Ginger had bright, and fake, red hair. She was only 32, but due to her chain-smoking and drinking habits, she looked closer to 45. Despite this, Ginger was one of the top dancers at the club. Her charismatic personality and deep laugh drew her loyal customers. "Ok honey" Ginger was all business tonight. "He's already here so we need to throw you in this outfit."

Catholic school girl. Amelia raised an eyebrow. "One of his favorites?"

Confirming, Ginger shuddered "I swear, after tonight, I am burning this fucking thing."

They made small work of getting the clothing on. Ginger put some darker lipstick on Amelia as she applied some glittery body powder. "Is that how you are going to….?" Ginger asked.

"Yep." Amelia walked with Ginger to the backstage area.

All of dancers that were not already on stage grouped near the stage entrance. No one spoke; Amelia doubted that some of them were even breathing. They all just stared. _Of course, they are suspicious. Who else was offering these women help? The cops probably just took reports and made blanket statements about being careful and working in pairs. _Amelia took a deep breath. "Here we go." She whispered and stepped onto the stage.


	10. An eye for an eye

**Alright guys! I apologize in advance, but this chapter may have to tide you over for the weekend. Between concerts, baby showers, birthday parties, and Renaissance Fairs, I will be quite busy. I have been looking forward to writing this stand off since I started my story, so enjoy!**

Shrugging on her leather jacket, Amelia winced at the numerous bruises on her torso. Considering the bruises, the cracked rib, and the knife wound on her hip, she thought that it was a pretty fair fight. Amelia looked over at Moran. It must have been hard for him to see with two swollen and blackened eyes. The jacket had been a smart investment as the warehouse did not offer much heat. Amelia double checked the rope and the scaffolding before settling in her spot. _And now we wait._

"Sherlock, can you please stop moping around like your date stood you up?" John found himself sitting on the couch, watching Sherlock pace. _How familiar is this? _

Obviously ignoring John, Sherlock paced faster. "I cannot sit idly by as Amelia goes off to fight Moriarty. She thinks that she can handle him, what the hell did she do in the States? You can't take down a consulting criminal with skills that you learn at Starbucks."

"Well, perhaps she did something a little more dangerous. Maybe she was training to be a police officer." John sighed in frustration at Sherlock's snort. "It was just an example. I mean, it's not like she killed people for a living."

Sherlock suddenly stopped. His face had gone from his usual alabaster to stark white. "What did you say?"

"It's not like she killed people for a living. Sherlock, you cannot be thinking that Amelia was an assassin. I mean, for Christ's sake, she apologized to a spider for accidentally brushing it off of her face. D'you really think a person like that is capable of cold blooded murder?"

John and Sherlock looked at each other for a minute. In a slow tone, Sherlock said "It doesn't add up then. Amelia's reflexes are faster than the average person and that was not something she was just born with. Her predictions with time are uncanny. Just think about when she made breakfast."

This time, John was the one to snort. "Loads of people can time their cooking, Sherlock, it comes with practice."

"There's a difference, John. Amelia also knew how long it would take for Lestrade to make toast and for you to set the table. Did you not notice how all three of you finished at the same time? It is like she can measure someone's pace, also unusual. Finally, Amelia is remarkably strong. I know the weight of the skillets that she used, yet she practically threw them around like they were balloons. If she isn't a gun for hire, than none of this makes sense."

"Sure it does, she could just have lived in a rough neighborhood for some time. The cooking thing, perhaps she worked in fine dining where the timing had to be spot on. There are loads of reasons why she could be physically strong and mentally sharp and none of them have to do with being a murderer."

Sherlock shook his head. "But I saw her file at Mycroft's house. She moved around frequently. Even someone who is incredibly resilient would still struggle from time to time after moving to a new state. 8 states, John, how does anyone float through life when they travelled to 8 different states, all in different parts of the country?"

John did not have an answer. He just kept thinking about Amelia's departing words. _An assassin? Is that why she thinks that I would reject her?_

The sound of approaching footsteps broke both men's concentration. "Lestrade" breathed Sherlock.

Sure enough, the DI walked through the door, a confused look on his face. "I think I may have gotten a text that was meant for one of you."

Sherlock plucked the mobile out of Lestrade's hand. "I need your help. I have Moran, but he broke my arm and I am not sure how long he will remained tied up. By the way, you should call Molly, she is interested." At the end of the text was an address outside of London.

He handed the phone back. "Nope, that message was meant for you. We all saw your face when Molly wore the black dress at the Christmas Party. But that is not from Amelia. There is no way she would type complete sentences with a broken arm. Besides, she would already know how to reset and bind it up. Lastly, I know from personal experience, that no one can break free of Amelia's rope knots."

Lestrade looked vaguely embarrassed and impressed. "So you think this is a trap? We should avoid it then."

Sherlock, hand already on his jacket, paused. "Now why on earth would we do that? Let's go, John."

A single tone from Mycroft's mobile roused him from his strategizing. He knew that Amelia had left Baker Street. His guard called him instantly when he saw her on the roof. However, she managed to evade his trailing. Despite the headache her stunt created, Mycroft could not help but be a little proud of Amelia. Jackson was a first class sniper and his levels of stealth were unmatched by anyone on Mycroft's employ, yet he lost the young woman within 5 minutes of following her. Grabbing his mobile, Mycroft quickly checked the text message. "It appears that you have something of mine. Please return it, promptly, or she will suffer." Almost instantly, a picture popped up of Amelia walking down the sidewalk.

Mycroft dialed Sherlock. "Please tell me that you know where she is."

"Even if I knew, Mycroft, why would I tell you?"

Mycroft fought the urge to drive over to Baker Street and throttle his younger brother. _Oh, the woes of being the first born. _Anthea walked by, putting down a biscuit and the phone records and texts that were on Gregory Lestrade's phone. _I really do not pay her enough. _Mycroft quick scanned the records and found the information he needed. "Ah, nevermind. It appears that Lestrade already had that information."

He could practically hear Sherlock's bolt of annoyance. Mycroft tried to not let his smugness show when he stated "I will meet you there in 10 minutes."

The four men stood outside the abandoned warehouse. "Well now, Moriarty does have a flair for the dramatic" muttered Sherlock. "Time to get this over with."

Sherlock walked quickly into the door, Mycroft was close behind. However, once the two brothers had entered, the door slammed shut. John and Lestrade ran over and tried to enter. "The damn thing is locked. How the hell did that happen?" Lestrade grunted.

John pulled out his gun from the back of his trousers. "I guess this means that we have to find an alternative way inside." He and Lestrade ran to the side of the building.

James Moriarty stood in the direct center of the warehouse. Sherlock scoffed. _Always a flair for the dramatic. _"Why don't we skip the usual monologues and you tell me why you think we have Moran?"

"Very simple, Sherlock. Moran has been taken and I want him back." Moriarty's voice was deceptively calm. "I know you have been helping Amelia. We've been through this so many times, boys, Amelia is mine. She always has been and she always will be. Can we please end this whole charade?"

"Not going to happen, James." Mycroft stepped forward, a redness creeping along his face betrayed the turmoil that he felt. "Leave her out of whatever you have planning. This is between us."

"IT WAS NEVER BETWEEN US!" screamed Moriarty. Within a second, he appeared calm and collected. "Stop getting involved. Now. Where. Are. They?"

"Right here, asshole" Amelia rang out from behind Moriarty.

Moriarty spun around. "Give me my right hand man, Amelia."

"You first."

Amelia walked closer. She was clad in a pair of blue jeans, a light grey top, and a black leather jacket. Sherlock could see a faint bulk under her top. _Now where did she find a bulletproof vest?_ She continued to walk towards Moriarty, seemingly to confront him face to face. At the last moment, though, she veered to the right and stood by some scaffolding.

Moriarty was not impressed. "Cut the big girl act, pet. Your man is dead and you will be too if you don't fetch him for me."

Lifting an eyebrow, Amelia considered his words. "Fine. Let me get him."

Moriarty briefly looked triumphant. Amelia raised one hand and shoved the scaffolding over. Moran soon followed, but his drop was cut short by the rope that was tied around his neck. Amelia made sure that Moran was still alive when she propped him up on the scaffolding. He was close enough to the planks to remain alive, but hung up to keep his feet from making a solid contact. Once the scaffolding fell, Moran was left to the mercy of an unforgiving noose. There was a loud crack as Moran's spine snapped. He was dead within minutes.

Incredulous, Moriarty could only stare. Amelia gazed back at him. Then, holding her arms out, she addressed all three men. "I'm just getting started."

"Looking forward to our dance."

Calmly, she walked to the back of the warehouse, unlatched the door, and walked into the night.


	11. A step in the right direction

**Surprise!**

**And I still own nothing, except Amelia, but she is pretty badass so I am satisfied.**

[Three months later]

Amelia found herself back on Baker Street. She considered, briefly, just walking away. _I've made it this far. Do I really need to involve Sherlock?_ Looking down at her leg, Amelia mad e up her mind and started towards 221B. She only made it halfway up the stairs before collapsing. _Oh bother, I know Mrs. Hudson is not going to like me staining her new carpeting _she thought before slipping into unconsciousness.

Sherlock paused when he heard the door downstairs close. Recognizing the sounds of Amelia's footsteps, he knew there was something wrong. Setting down his violin, he began to walk to the stairs. He heard the loud noise of his sister falling as soon as he got to the top of the stairs. Amelia had curled into a ball, but Sherlock could see evidence of long term torture on her. _She's practically dying and is still trying not to make a mess out of the flat. _This simple act of consideration towards his landlady gave Sherlock assurance that Amelia may survive her wounds. Before he could pull out his mobile, Mycroft burst in and gaped at the two of them. At Sherlock's questioning gaze, Mycroft explained "I saw her on surveillance. She was able to get in sight of a security camera by Angelo's. We need to get her medical attention."

Sherlock and Mycroft carefully picked Amelia up and carried her to Mycroft's car. "What, no specialized ambulance or on-call specialty doctor?" sneered Sherlock.

"But we are going to a very specialized doctor, Sherlock. Someone that I trust with my sister's life."

John was hoping for a quiet afternoon. He planned on knocking off early as Mary had the day off, some sort of holiday for the school. Sitting at his desk, he thought about the effortlessness of this relationship. Mary was a wonderful woman. They simply enjoyed just being in each other's company. There was no drama or dangerous situations. John and Mary found shared hobbies that they delighted in; cooking was at the top of the list. John could not remember ever being with someone that was as easy as breathing.

He was bloody bored.

Fortunately, Mary picked up on John's need for excitement. Every once in a while, she would shoo him out the door and tell him to see what Sherlock needed help with. As much as John appreciated Mary's acceptance of his crime solving adventures-and Sherlock had plenty planned-he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if Mary had been the kind of woman who wanted to be a part of the thrill. _Face it, Watson, you want her to be more like Amelia. _

Rubbing his hands over his face, he recalled the night he saw her last. John and Lestrade managed to find a broken window in the warehouse and cleared out the glass so they could climb in. Lestrade crouched down to give the shorter man a boost up. John climbed through far enough to swing a leg in. Once stable, he looked up in time to see Amelia push over the scaffolding and killing Moran. As she walked out, John felt an overwhelming urge to follow. Unfortunately, Moriarty spotted him and pointed his gun towards John's head. Sherlock did not hesitate and tackled Moriarty to the ground. John cleared the rest of the window and helped Lestrade up quickly while Mycroft and Sherlock worked together to tie Moriarty up, which amused Moriarty to no end. "A little tighter, Sherlock, I like it to hurt a little" he cried out, winking at Sherlock.

Sherlock made a sound of disgust, finished his knots, and kicked Moriarty in the kidney. "Just get him out of here and somewhere far away."

Mycroft scowled at Moriarty. "I'll be sure to send you to my favorite employee. Rest assured, he will ensure that the last place I send you to will seem like a holiday in the Caribbean."

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "Promises, promises. But you see, I have a date with a stunning hit for hire. I simply can't disappoint her."

He was still chortling when Mycroft sent him off. John assumed he remained cackling until the moment he escaped from the prison that he was taken to. After that, he just started planning. Amelia must have been extraordinarily skilled at seeking revenge quietly because, if not for Homeless Pete who gave Sherlock information, they would not have heard what she and Moriarty was doing to each other. Even with an informant, it was just whispers of poisoned bodyguards (Amelia), hotel fires (Moriarty), and malfunctioning helicopters (Amelia). Sherlock was anxious to hear how she figured out how to make the propellers fly OFF of the chopper almost cut Moriarty into bite sized pieces.

Although Sherlock never admitted it, John had a sense that he was proud of Amelia. She tried to beat Moriarty 12 years ago by running away. This time, she seemed hell bent on burning the city down if it meant that she could finally kill the man who kept her isolated and on the run. John saw a glint in Sherlock's eyes when he described the newest attack that she concocted. Every Friday, Amelia sent Sherlock a package in the mail, though it was never a letter, but some frog object. John never understood the significance of the animal, but it did give the men reassurance that she was still alive.

The last package came over a month ago and John's heart broke the day he saw the glint leave Sherlock's eyes.

A loud commotion startled John out of his thoughts. He could hear Sherlock yelling in the lobby "I don't want a damn intern! Where the hell is John?"

The voice of Stella, one of the head nurses, could be heard next. "I couldn't care less! You are not taking that woman into the offices; she's bleeding all over the place. She shouldn't even be here, why didn't you take her to the emergency department?"

_Sherlock bringing a woman here? Oh god, they found her._

Moments later, Sherlock practically tore down the office door, Amelia in his arms. "John! We need you."

John instantly went into doctor mode. "Get her into exam room 3. Stella, get as many supplies as you can and bring them in."

"But Doctor, we aren't equipped to handle that extensive of injuries."

John choked back a sob. "She isn't going anywhere. I can get her stable and if we need to move her to surgery, we'll do it then."

Sherlock set Amelia on the table. Mycroft was already putting pressure on the most severe wounds, trying to slow down the bleeding. _Multiple lacerations of varying depths. Most are shallow enough to cause pain, but not kill her. Burn marks on her legs, stomach, and neck. There are bruises all over her body. Amelia was tortured. _John worked diligently, checking for internal injuries as Stella took over tending to the bleeding. _Kidneys are bruised and it feels like there are some other small injuries to the intestines but nothing life threatening. _"Doctor, her heart rate is slowing down, she's crashing." The panic in Stella's voice was unnerving.

Before John could respond, Mycroft pulled out a syringe and stabbed it in Amelia's chest. "What the hell was that?" screamed Stella.

Amelia shot up from the table, screaming louder than Stella. "WHHHAAAATT! WHAT DID YOU GIVE ME?"

John was ready to murder Mycroft. "Adrenaline, Mycroft? Really? You gave a bleeding woman adrenaline?"

"She was dying!"

"And now she could bleed out! Damn it, you and Sherlock hold her down. Stella, call for your strongest nurses, now." John looked at Amelia, who couldn't stop jerking and crying out in pain. "I am so sorry, Amelia, this is going to be much worse before it gets better."

Four nurses came into the exam room and they immediately got back to work. It took the better part of 8 hours and a shift change for the nurses before John put in the last stitch. Amelia had calmed herself down after 2 hours and was now trying to lay with her hands behind her head. John moved her arms back. "You really need to stop doing that, if you bend your limbs, it affects the blood flow."

"Alright, Doctor, I'll play nice and listen." Amelia adjusted her hips. She was feeling sore and stiff from being held down for so long. _Honestly, it's like they never had to deal with someone on uppers._ "But you should bring Sherlock and Mycroft in, I need to speak with them."

"Let me finish checking you over. I want to make sure you didn't further damage your internal organs after thrashing around that much."

Amelia fixed her gaze at the ceiling until John was done; she did not want to see what he was feeling. She really did not know what to say to him. John had turned to dispose of his gloves and wash his hands when Amelia blurted out "So what kind of wedding gift should I get for you?"

John froze. "Don't" he said. "Just don't. I cannot handle discussing my marriage with you." He started to walk towards the door.

"Sorry, I guess it is bad timing to talk about that since you had to stitch me back together like a rag doll."

John turned slightly. "That's not why." With those departing words, John walked out.

Amelia ignored the pressure she felt on her chest. Keeping her breathing steady, she sat up on the table and greeted Sherlock and Mycroft as they walked in. "Glad to see that you both had time to change. Send me the dry cleaning bill and I'll…what the hell are you doing, Sherlock?"

Sherlock had cleared the space between the door and Amelia at lightning speed and was currently wrapping his arms gingerly around Amelia's shoulders. _Ew, it's the hug thing again. I will kick John in the shin for teaching him that._ To make matters worse, Mycroft joined in, hugging around her waist. It was too much for Amelia and she tried to break free. It was no use; both brothers were latched on either side of her. Amelia decided to just go limp and wait for it to be over. "When you two are done, I have some important information for you."

Mycroft moved one hand and covered her mouth. "Shush. You have been tortured and almost died."

Amelia rolled her eyes so hard, she momentarily feared that her retinas were going to detach. "Simmer down, drama queen. I did that on purpose."

Apparently, those were the magic words as Sherlock and Mycroft immediately stepped back. "Amelia, you might want to expand on that" Sherlock slowly asserted.

Crossing her legs and giving her brothers a mischievous smile, Amelia drawled "I would be delighted to, Sherlock, thank you. Now, I spent the last three months trying to figure out what Moriarty's plan is, but I could never get close enough. Finally, he managed to get a couple of brutes to abduct me. Normally I would be able to escape from those idiots within a minute, but then I thought, hey, idiots talk a lot. So, I went with them and much to my glee, they told me all about Moriarty's plans as a form of torture. I stuck around until I was sure that I had everything, lit a fire, and got the hell out of there."

Mycroft looked bewildered, Sherlock amused. "Well, aren't you going to tell us about his grand plan?"

Amelia looked startled with herself. "Sorry, that is the best part. He is going to kill you both."


	12. Going home

Amelia tried to leave the clinic later that afternoon, against doctor's orders, of course. "You really need to get checked into a proper hospital for observation." John warned.

Shrugging on her jacket, Amelia shot back "That's a great idea, John. Let me check into St. Bart's. I'm sure Moriarty won't find me there. Even if he does, I'll be protected by the loads of guards that are posted at all the patients' doors." She took a deep breath and softened her tone. "I appreciate the concern, but I am fine, I just need to heal. And I can do that just as well at Sherlock's flat. If anything happens, Sherlock will notice it right away and then, yes, I will check myself in."

"Please, Amelia, if there is a complication you might not have time to get to a hospital. Sure, Sherlock can tell if there is a problem, unless he is too busy playing his violin or zoned out in his mind." John reached out to wrap his hand around Amelia's arm.

Amelia jerked her arm out of reach. "Listen up, homeslice, this isn't my first time going toe to toe with a thug and it won't be the last. I know what symptoms to worry about, so if you'll excuse me, I will be going."

"Fine. As your doctor, I can't stop you from going against medical advice." John's jaw looked tight as he walked to the closet to retrieve his jacket. "But as your friend, I won't let you be alone, not for at least 48 hours."

"What are you going to do? Babysit me?"

John smiled. "Why yes, yes I am." He opened the door and gestured for Amelia to exit first.

Instead of walking through the doors, Amelia froze. "You have got to be kidding me? I don't want you around."

"Why not?"

Amelia walked towards John and did not stop until her face was an inch from his. Looking into his eyes for the first time since they kissed, she could see all of John's conflicting emotions on his face. _He is still attracted to me, even though he saw what happened at the warehouse, but he feels guilt-ridden because he does genuinely love Mary. Right now, he is probably trying to figure out how to keep an eye on me and stay at a comfortable distance so he doesn't….slip. He is also scared to leave me because if I do develop a blood clot, it would kill me. He is tired of seeing so much death and also knows that it would send Sherlock off the deep end. Sure, Sherlock gets himself into some dangerous situations, but he always remained logical and impartial. If I die, he will try to get revenge on Moriarty and he won't be thinking straight. _Amelia looked down. John's hand was already on the small of her back and he was staring at her mouth with a hungry expression on his face. _Ah, shit. _"That's why not" she whispered.

As she tried to back away, John grabbed her wrist. "I am sick of whatever this is that we're doing. You are not going back to Baker Street alone and we are talking about this. If you can behave, then I can as well." He turned and walked out of the clinic, waiting for her on the sidewalk.

"Great, first I get kidnapped and beaten, then I get stitched up by my newly married…whatever he is, and not we are going to talk about our feelings. Dear god, can this day get any worse?" Amelia groaned.

The sound of a throat being cleared gave Amelia her answer. Turning her head to the left, she noticed Stella and three other patients. "Right, I am still in the waiting room, aren't I?" Amelia tried to flash them a grin, but it came out as a mortified twist of her mouth.

Smirking, Stella motioned to her next patient and said to Amelia "Best not to keep the doctor waiting, love."

Amelia stared after her. _Now that is a look of someone who knows far too much. _She gathered as much nerve as she could and walked outside. John raised his hand to signal for a taxi when a black car pulled up. John looked back with a sheepish smile, "I guess that takes care of how we were going to get back."

As they both climbed into the car, Amelia and John simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief when they noticed that Mycroft was not waiting for them. John looked over and started laughing. "Why is it that I lived and worked with Sherlock and his idiosyncrasies with hardly a problem, yet Mycroft makes me want to bathe in acid?"

"I know what you mean. I have been asking myself the same question for years. Perhaps it is because of his face."

Amelia's comment only made John laugh harder. "How does his face come into play?"

"Think about it, Mycroft's face is more pinched. It gives him a perpetually annoyed vibe. Combine that with the old man wrinkles and receding hairline and you get short-tempered just by looking at him. Sherlock tries to look mysterious, but has that floppy hair. So you want to know more about him, but sometimes forget that he is a grown man and not a little boy with a science kit."

"Oh my god, I never thought about it like that. Though they both looked like old men when they brought you in." The atmosphere quickly changed to depressing as John kicked himself. _Way to go, idiot, talk about how she almost died and scared them all to their cores, that'll make her want to open up to you. _

John took Amelia's hand. "Please don't listen to me. I can't believe I brought that up."

"It's fine, John. I suppose I should tell you what I told Sherlock and Mycroft anyway." Amelia recounted her deliberate kidnapping and attempts to get information out of her captors.

John listened intently, but did not say anything until she was finished. "So you thought that allowing yourself to get abducted and almost killed could get you Moriarty's actual plan? What if he lied to them, knowing that they would gloat to you?"

"I thought about that. So I had to do some extra digging. There is a good chance that Moriarty didn't order them to take me. I believe they wanted to break me and then hand-deliver me to him as a gift. For a while, I considered faking a breakdown so I could confront Moriarty, but then he found out what they had done. I figured that it was a good time to leave."

The car pulled up to Baker Street. John looked at the door and murmured "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

It wasn't until he got out of the car that Amelia realized that John had held her hand the entire ride.

Though Amelia was dreading it, she was surprised that John remained professionally aloof that evening. He checked her vitals once an hour and grilled her about any symptoms that she felt, no matter how insignificant they may have seemed to her. Sherlock was no help, either, he offered Amelia his rooms so John could sleep on the couch, but remained close by. By about 8pm, John tried to get Amelia to lie down. "This is ridiculous, I'm not even tired" she bemoaned and crossed her arms. "Stop treating me like a petulant child."

She could tell that John was running out of patience. "Then stop acting like one. Your body needs time to recuperate. You are not Superwoman, so go lie down."

"I want some tea first."

Sherlock sat next to Amelia on the couch. "I could use some tea as well, John."

John threw up his arms. "I am not your bloody maid. Forgive me if I wanted to make sure Amelia's health did not take a turn for the worse tonight, I didn't realize that it was going to ruin both of your lives."

Sherlock crossed his arms as well. "No need to yell, John. Amelia may have been beaten severely, but I am pretty sure her hearing is in top form."

John looked over and once again marveled at how alike Amelia and Sherlock were. He wondered if they even realized. _Probably not._ Then an idea popped in his head. Muttering, he walked into the kitchen to make the damn tea. Sherlock and Amelia did not even notice John taking a detour into the bathroom while the water was set to boil. Once the tea was ready, John set them out for Sherlock and Amelia. Amelia thanked him and drank deeply. After about 20 minutes, Amelia's eyelids began to feel heavy and she found it difficult to keep her head up. John crouched in front of her, a bright smile on his face. "You look exhausted, Amelia, let me help you up and into bed."

John pulled Amelia into a standing position and put his arm around her waist as she swayed. "I think you'll feel much better after a nice restful sleep." He couldn't help but giggle as Amelia figured out what he added to her tea. "Just a little melatonin, love" he whispered as he brushed a kiss against her temple.

Amelia looked as murderous as she could with half shut eyes. "You are a fucking asshole" she slurred.

They had reached Sherlock's room and John helped her lay down. Amelia swiped a fist towards John's head, but in her exhaustion, it did not have any force behind it. "I'ma get you back for that one, Watson."

John opened his mouth to reply, but Amelia had already fallen into a deep sleep. He walked into the living room, where Sherlock was on his laptop. "Thanks for the assist, Sherlock." John grabbed his phone to check in with Mary.

Sherlock smirked. _Guilty conscience, I bet._

Amelia woke up the next morning. She remembered being furious with John for drugging her tea. But then somehow, during the night, she somehow got over it. Amelia hated being on sleeping medication, it made her have odd dreams. Last night was no different as she dreamt that Moriarty was perched on the pillow next to her, a bloody heart in his hand. When he spoke, John's voice came out of his mouth. "I had to do it, Amelia. We belong together."

Shaking her head, she made her way out of Sherlock's room, hoping to make some tea. Along the short walk, she noticed that she was no longer wearing the jeans and top from yesterday, but a camisole and a pair of boxers. _Odd. _Shrugging it off, she opened the door and saw a short, blonde woman standing at the stove. The woman looked over, smiled, and made her way to Amelia, hand outstretched for a handshake. "I was expecting you to wake up sooner. You slept for 13 hours. No matter, I bet you are hungry. Sherlock mentioned that you liked poached eggs?"

Amelia shook the proffered hand. "Scrambled with hot sauce. I'm sorry, but you have me at a disadvantage."

"My apologies, dear, my name is Mary. I'm John's wife."


	13. Amelia's final straw

Mary turned back around and began to make Amelia her breakfast. _Like I can still eat at a time like this._ Amelia sat at the table and tried to make small talk. "So, why are you here? I mean, I thought you were a teacher."

"I am, but there is an assembly this morning, so I can start later. John and Sherlock had to go help their detective friend with a case and he asked me to look in on you."

Amelia felt a hard lump in her throat. "That was very nice of you, Mary. But I really don't need anything."

"Nonsense, it really is no bother. John said that you lived in the States for a while, where exactly were you?"

"Um, I moved around a lot. I worked as a consultant so I just went where I could find a client."

Mary made a sound of approval. "That sounds like so much fun! What were you a consultant for?"

"Web design."

"That sounds fascinating. I never really got into the whole technology thing. I guess I can do the basics, but if anything goes wrong, I am practically worthless. Is there any particular area of the country you stayed in?" Mary finished cooking and threw the food on the plates.

Amelia accepted the plate. "Thank you, no I tried to see the whole country. I figured that if I needed to move around a lot, I might as well cover as much area as I could. I started in Seattle, then Boston, Minneapolis, Tucson, Key West, Casper, Las Vegas, Paducah, Salt Lake City, New Orleans, Memphis, and finally Chicago. Each city had its own rhythm and each citizen had their own story, so I loved all of it in their unique way."

The two women continued to talk over breakfast. Mary spoke about teaching and told Amelia about the misadventures of potty training a dozen children within one day. Despite herself, Amelia found herself liking Mary's warmth and candidness. She also had a way to get people to open up. It helped that Amelia was quite sure that Mary did not know about what had occurred between her and John. _Well, there really isn't much to know. Plus, he was the one to kiss me before I knew about her. _ Amelia insisted on cleaning up, though Molly propped against the counter so they could keep talking. "So, would you like to tell me who gave you those bruises?"

"Couple of thugs jumped me, trying to get at my new and fabulous kicks." Amelia snorted a laugh at Mary's confusion. "They tried to steal my shoes. General mugging, I suppose, anyway, you should see them."

"Oh my god, how horrible! And just when you got back home. I suppose you think London has gone to the gutter."

"It's fine, Mary. You'll have those kinds of people everywhere. I just consider it terrible luck that it happened to me when it did."

Just as Amelia was drying the last dish, the door opened. Sherlock and John walked in. "Ah, there you are, darling. Just in time as well, I best be off. Amelia, it was wonderful to meet you and we shall have to have a proper time out." Mary kissed John, grabbed her jacket, and left the flat.

John walked towards the stove to make some tea. Amelia sat at the table and glared at John. Sherlock looked at the two of them, an amused expression on his face. "Amelia, care for a cuppa?" John did not glance back to see Amelia's appearance darken.

"I would love a cup." She said through gritted teeth.

Sherlock began to slowly walk backwards to the door. Mrs. Hudson walked through. "Sherlock, I was wondering if I could….what are you doing?" Sherlock took Mrs. Hudson by the arm and pulled her with him out the door.

"Please trust me Mrs. Hudson, you'll want to be out of firing range for this."

John handed Amelia her cup of tea. Amelia wrapped both hands around the mug and inhaled the aroma. He made chamomile tea. Amelia hated chamomile. She slowly picked up the despised liquid in one hand, took aim, and heaved it at John. The cup shattered against the cupboard just to the left of his head.

"Oi, what was that for?" John began to wipe the near boiling tea from his face.

"What was that for? You asked your _wife_ to babysit me? You stupid jackass! On what planet is that a good idea?"

"We were worried about you! Lestrade needed us and when we were halfway there, Sherlock.."

"Leave me out of this!" Sherlock yelled from the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson, I believe that it is time we journey to your kitchen for a spell."

"Sherlock thought that it might have been a set up by Moriarty to get us out of the flat so he could grab you again. Mrs. Hudson had an appointment so I called Mary. I honestly thought you would sleep until we got back. Besides, you got along so well" John finished lamely.

"Yes, I got along with your wife. She hasn't done anything to me. Mary is a lovely person who just so happened to marry an adrenaline junkie who has decided that I would make an excellent fix."

John's face paled. "Is that what you think of me?"

"You may try to convince yourself that you want a simple life, but when a dangerous situation comes up, you start running towards it. That's why you think you want me, especially after the warehouse, I am just a female Sherlock to you." Amelia fought back tears.

"You aren't making any sense. First, we kiss and I offer to leave Mary for you. You reject me because I am too 'good' and that you would disgust me. Then, I see you at your worst and decide that I can live with that and you _disappear_. If it weren't for those damn frogs you sent Sherlock, I would have thought you were dead. And then they stopped arriving and we thought you were dead."

"I didn't!" yelled Sherlock from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen.

"Shut up, Sherlock!" John and Amelia shouted back in unison. _Honestly, he can still hear us?_

"So yeah, Mary and I got married. I love her, but sometimes I wonder if I did it out of fear. I died a little the day we realized that there weren't any more packages coming. And then I died some more the other day when you were carried into the clinic. I thought that I made the right decision and now I am not so sure."

Amelia knew she had two options. She could be selfish and tell John to leave Mary. But then she thought about Mary, the woman who took a half day off of work to help take care of her husband's friend's sister without question. _Honestly, Mary, an assembly? _ Mary looked at Amelia's injuries without judgment and accepted her story, even though she did not believe her. There was strength to Mary that John did not see. John may want adventure with Amelia, but Mary was the one who could take care of him when he got back.

"John, this isn't about us anymore. You brought Mary into this situation. She loves you with everything that she has and is willing to put up with your adventure seeking. More than that, she appreciates that part of you because she knows that you need to be the one to make the world just a little better. Don't treat her like some nitwit that you felt sorry for."

"Stop pushing me away, Amelia. You bang on and on about wonderful Mary is and how I don't see that. I know you said something to Molly as well about how she needs to stop dating men who don't treat her right. You empower everyone to be at their best and to know that they are worth a damn, but then you push them away. Have you even called Molly to tell her that you are ok? She's been worried sick."

"Because people die when they care about me! Why the hell do you think I had to leave London? Do you honestly believe that I wanted to go? That I wanted to be homeless and learn how to become an assassin because my first real friend was murdered? Her grandson thought that it was his fault and taught me how to kill so that it could never happen again. And then it did. Moriarty has been winning for 12 fucking years. So forgive me if I want an end to this bloodshed." Amelia was practically screaming.

"So then stop letting him win, Amelia. Rejoin the world" was John's soft reply.

Amelia was too wound up to continue. "I gotta go, man. This is getting way too hard."

She walked out the door.

Amelia walked to the only other place in London where she could feel safe, Molly's flat. John was wrong about Molly too. Amelia had been in contact with her in a similar way that she kept in contact with Sherlock. Molly was worried when Amelia had been taken, but Amelia had managed to send her a text, letting her know that she was still alive before she went to Sherlock's. Using the spare key Molly gave her, Amelia let herself in. Moly and Lestrade were sitting on the couch and looked uncomfortable. At first, Amelia thought she walked in during a private moment, but then she saw the small dark-haired man sitting on the chair opposite. Moriarty. Amelia smiled, _just the man I wanted to see when I am this angry. _Moriarty looked over. "Hello darling, we've been having a most interesting chat, care to join us?"

Amelia strode over to Moriarty's chair, picked him up, and threw him against the wall. "I am so sick of your shit!" she roared.

Moriarty began to laugh, which added fuel to Amelia's fire. Holding him by the neck, she punched him in the face, breaking his nose. Moriarty stopped laughing. Amelia threw him to the ground and, before he could get up, began kicking him in the ribs and torso. When he was good and sore, she straddled him, took Moriarty by the hair and began smashing his head against the floorboards. It wasn't until Moriarty was nearly unconscious that Amelia stopped. She lifted him up by the arms and dragged him outside. Propping him up against a wall in the nearby alley, she slapped him a few times to make sure that he was still awake. Moriarty opened his non-swollen eye and wrapped his arm around Amelia's waist. "That felt nice, may I have some more?"

Amelia could feel the evidence of Moriarty's interest growing between his legs. She fought the urge to push herself away. _That's exactly what he wants. _Instead, she pressed her hand against it and looked into Moriarty's surprised eyes. He leaned forward, intent on kissing her. "If I had only known that you were into that, we could have skipped all of this nonsense."

Amelia smiled, squeezed hard, and twisted her hand. Moriarty screamed out in pain and bent at the waist, dry heaving. Amelia finally stepped back. "What's wrong, baby? Don't like how I play anymore?"

"Enough!" Moriarty straightened up. "What do you want?"

"Let's keep it simple. We should agree that there will be no more attacking other people. If we want to fight, we fight each other."

"No."

Amelia was incredulous. "No?"

"No." Moriarty had composed himself enough that his face was no longer red and tears were not streaming down his face. "It will not end until you are with me. Stop fighting this, Amelia, you were meant to be by my side. Don't let your idiot brothers convince you that you can fight with them."

"Well, shall we meet halfway?"

Moriarty gazed at her. "And how does that work? What each of us wants are practically exact opposites."

_He's hooked. Moriarty won't admit it, but he is willing to do anything for me to agree that we're on the same side. Why does he want this so bad? Perhaps it is time to find out. _"We make this fight between us and if you win, I go with you."

"Willingly?"

"Willingly."

Walking up to Amelia, Moriarty did not take his eyes off of hers. He studied her to make sure that she was telling the truth. Moriarty wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was all-consuming, but only lasted a few seconds. Moriarty stepped back and replied "I'll think about it."

As he strode away, Amelia could not help but be impressed by how well he could walk considering she just broke three of his ribs.


	14. Molly's insight

**Thank you for the wonderful reviews and support! I was facing some major writer's block after the last chapter. I didn't necessarily want to go in a direction of Amelia giving in to Moriarty, nor did I want her to continue to rely of Sherlock and Mycroft. It seemed too predictable and a little chauvinistic. **

**This chapter is mostly to get Amelia away from where we left off. She went to see Molly for a reason, but is going to get a little extra advice, in addition.**

**Enjoy and keep letting me know what you think! I always welcome new ideas!**

* * *

"Well, here I thought that you might need some assistance. Guess I was wrong." Amelia glanced up to see Lestrade leaning against the wall.

He walked closer. "Just what the hell are you thinking, going against Moriarty like that? Do you honestly think that you will win? He has managed to evade all of the British government, not to mention your own brother."

Amelia shook out her right hand, the knuckles were already starting to bruise. "Lot of questions you have, Detective Inspector. Let's see, get him away from my loved ones, yes, and he won't evade me."

"And how do you propose beating him? In a game of Scrabble?"

"Let me worry about Moriarty now, Lestrade. Can we go inside now? It's freezing." Amelia and Lestrade made their way back into Molly's flat.

Molly was already prepared. She handed Amelia a bag of ice, some painkillers, and a glass of water. Amelia thanked her and sat down. Lestrade was nonplussed. "Why aren't you more shocked by this? We just witnessed Amelia beating the shit out of one of the most dangerous criminals in England and you are just calmly helping her out?"

"Calm down, Greg. What good is panicking? I may not have known Amelia for that long, but if she is anything like Sherlock, she is not going to back down, no matter what we say." Molly settled back onto the couch, next to Amelia.

Lestrade shook his head in disbelief. "And now we, what, wait for a response from him?"

"It wasn't that simple. For years, Moriarty stalked Amelia, who thought she could outrun him. She's had others fighting her battle for her. When she finally came back to stop him, her attacks were passive and behind-the-scenes. Amelia just threw down the proverbial gauntlet and gave Moriarty a small taste of how strong she is. Not only that, she just handed him a deal that if he accepts and wins, he gets exactly what he has been wanting for over a decade, Amelia. All he has to do is leave the rest of us out of that. It's been a very eventful 20 minutes. So yes, we wait,"

Amelia and Lestrade gaped at Molly. _Goddamn. I couldn't have put it better myself._ "Wait, how did you know what happened? You were inside."

Molly gestured towards the front door. Next to the knob was a screen with buttons underneath. "I just listened from that, what was the screaming and vomiting about?"

Before Amelia could respond, her mobile rang. When she pulled it out, she noticed a text from Mycroft. "Well done, little sister. But you are crazy to think we won't be involved. Also, have Lestrade contact Sherlock, he has a lead on a case.-MH"

Amelia showed Lestrade the text. "Why do I need to pass this along? Don't you have your own phone?"

Lestrade's face turned a light shade of pink. "The, um, battery died. I wasn't near my charger."

"Seriously? I thought that you, of all people, would be on top of that." Amelia saw the quick look between Lestrade and Molly. "Oh, right. You two banged. Well, Lestrade, you should really upgrade your phone to one with a similar charger as Molly's. I'd hate for you to miss an important phone call."

With a practically purple face, Lestrade stood up. "Good idea." He said quickly. "Well, I best be off."

He stood awkwardly for another couple of seconds before Amelia gestured towards the door. "Exits typically work best when you actually leave."

"Right!" Lestrade almost ran out of the room and nearly tripped on the threshold.

Molly sighed as soon as the door shut. "You really do like keeping people on their toes, don't you?"

"It's one of my better qualities. Some say it is even my finest." Amelia grinned. "How is the Detective Inspector once he hangs up his badge? I bet he likes to let out that rebellious streak of his."

Molly's giggle was the only answer Amelia needed. She felt happy for her new friend. Lestrade was the kind and stable man that Molly deserved. He also was able to let loose and show her a good time. "Love looks good on you, Molly."

"Oh, I don't think I am there yet."

"Yes you are. Trust me."

"What about you?"

Amelia's eyebrows furrowed. "What about me?"

"You basically offer yourself to Moriarty, the man responsible for the death of Alex, within 24 hours of you finding out that John and Mary got married. You met Mary and decided you liked her, don't ask me how I know, you see the good in everyone. But you are here instead of Sherlock's. What happened between you and John now?"

"Fuck, Molly. Talking to you is like talking to a sweeter version of my brother sometimes."

"Swearing doesn't answer the question."

"He would leave her for me." Amelia rubbed her hands over her face. "I meet his wife, who loves him with all of his flaws and makes Sherlock part of her family, and he has to go try to be with me. Who does that?"

"Someone who thinks you are worth it,"

"I'm not."

"When will you be? When you beat Moriarty? When you forgive yourself for the deaths of your friends? You didn't kill them, Amelia"

"I killed one and the others died because I was too afraid of Moriarty to face him. I thought if I kept running, he would grow tired of the chase. But he just kept on. Their blood is on my hands, even if it wasn't always me who killed them."

"It was never in cold blood though." Molly paused. "Do you think that he would get tired of you if you surrendered? Is that why you proposed that deal?"

Amelia thought for a moment. "At first, I did. Now, I am not so sure."

"But you think you can beat him at his own game?"

"No. I will beat him at mine."

"What is he going to do next?"

"He is going to try to isolate me from Sherlock one last time before agreeing to keep it between us."

"How?"

"Irene Adler."

"You are involved with that?"

"Let's just say I made a brief appearance in the end."

"Amelia, maybe this is your shot to get ahead of Moriarty. If you know he will use that information against you, perhaps you should tell Sherlock first."

"I don't know how he is going to take it. No one will tell me what happened between the two of them, but I can tell that he feels something for her."

"He will react in his typical Sherlock way. Unemotional until he gets all of the facts. Just get it over with before it is too late."

Amelia tilted her head back and buried her face in a pillow. "Can't I just stay here a little longer? I don't want to face John."

"Oh sweetie, of course not. Bite the bullet and deal with those two."

"And where is this spine of yours when you are being swindled by my brother?"

Molly's only response was a pointed finger to the door. Amelia smiled at her. "I suppose one of these days I will thank you for this." She gathered the ice pack and her jacket before leaving.

**45 minutes later**

Amelia made her way up to Sherlock's flat. She had been trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of Irene Adler to Sherlock. Her intuition told her that Sherlock would try to freeze her out until she changed the topic. Gathering her courage, she opened the door. Sherlock was at the kitchen table, an experiment was strewn about. His attention, though, was on his phone. "Amelia" he greeted quietly. "Can you please explain what this picture is supposed to mean?" He held out his mobile.

It was a picture of Amelia. She was standing on the bridge in New Orleans. _That bridge._ Under the picture was a message: "Ask her about why The Woman stopped texting."

_Well, now I don't have to work this into conversation somehow._


	15. So much for a vacation

Amelia decided that after Salt Lake City, she earned herself a wild vacation. Her last assignment involved getting a job as a prostitute at the Bunny Ranch. Her target had a predilection for a dominant hand. She found the whole situation ironic, as Ivan Romanoff was the head of the Russian mafia that ran its business in Las Vegas. _I guess he grew fond of a good beating._ After securing a place as his favorite "bunny," Amelia began to accept house calls from Ivan. It was unfortunate for Ivan to admit that he would visit Utah without his bodyguards. This gave Amelia a chance to take her time with Ivan and get all the necessary information out of him that her clients required. In the end, Ivan lost his taste for submissive sex.

Her choice for a reprieve had been easy; Amelia had never been to Mardi Gras, so she was eager to let loose for once. Staying at the Royal Sonesta on Bourbon Street was a smart move, as Amelia was sure to catch all of the adventurous night life. The constant partying of other Mardi Gras visitors was noisy enough to keep Amelia distracted from the last several years of her life. _Honestly, I spend my life killing people and acting entirely too serious. I'm only 25, it's about time I start acting like it._

So she did. Amelia spent entirely too much money on clothing and alcohol. She spent her evenings meeting new people and checking out the nightlife. It was impressive to see an entire city, once devastated by Hurricane Katrina, rebuilt and the residents carry on. The effects were long-lasting, of course, but at least once a year, they celebrated in their unique ways.

One afternoon, Amelia found herself bored. She came across a fortune teller. Esmeralda looked like a stereotypical Gypsy woman, down to her sharp brown eyes, wild hair, and whimsical dress. Amelia assumed that Esmeralda exaggerated her looks so that the tourists felt like they were getting a genuine experience. "Tell me something, does it bother you that you need to feed into ridiculous stereotypes just to get these jerks' attention?"

Esmeralda appeared momentarily stunned by the blunt question that Amelia posed. "I guess if I were actually Romany, I would be. But even a fool's money spends the same."

Turns out, Esmeralda was actually Jennifer, a woman with Irish, Mexican, and Cajun roots. "My grandmother had the gift. I see things sporadically, but sometimes, it is not useful to what people want to know. For instance, I know that you look very similar to your older brother, the one that you actually like. But you already know that. Fortunately, my dear Grand'Mere taught me how to read people and tell them what they want to hear. Nothing definitive and always optimistic."

Amelia pulled out a bottle of Chivas Regal out of her purse. "I'll tell you what, instead of me paying you to tell me what I already know, we can drink a little and I can teach you more about reading into people's emotions."

And that is precisely what they did for the next few hours. It would have gone on longer, but a group of college girls wandered into the shop and asked for Tarot readings. Jennifer threw a discreet wink at Amelia before saying, "Please allow me to finish with my other client and I will be with you."

Once she turned to Amelia, she explained "I feel like it should be time for you to go onto your next adventure anyway. May I recommend Remoulade for dinner?"

Amelia bid her farewell to Jennifer and made her way back to Bourbon Street. She did feel hungry, so she went to the offered restaurant. As she came to expect, the establishment was incredibly busy. Amelia made her way to the hostess to get a seat. The ice blonde (definitely unnatural) in all black politely informed her that it would be at least a 2 hour wait. "For a table? That's ridiculous."

A voice to her left spoke up. "I completely agree. Perhaps you could dine with me? I am on my own and could use the company."

The voice belonged to a posh looking, British woman in her early 30's. She wore a designer jacket and a pencil skirt, looking entirely out of place among the diners who were almost entirely clad in blue jeans and t-shirts. The woman smiled, her lips were colored a deep red, and stuck out her hand. "I'm sorry if this appears unusual, but you look almost exactly like a loved one that I just had to leave. It would be lovely if you could join me. Speaking of unusual, it appears that I have forgotten my manners, my name is Irene."

Dinner went surprisingly well. Irene told Amelia about all that was happening in London, though Amelia told Irene that she was interested in moving there. Amelia told Irene the same story of a Minnesotan upbringing that she once told Alex. Amelia had Irene laughing at her Minnesota Nice translation impression so hard, that she had to bend over and grab her side. "Oh, god, stop! It is starting to hurt."

"So, Irene, what brings you from London, land of the repressed to New Orleans, city of excessive decadence?"

Irene's eyes filled with sorrow. "Let's just say that I got in over my head with my job and needed to clear out for a bit. I was known for stirring things up back home, so being here is a pleasant experience. It is a pity, though; there was someone that I wished would accompany me. Sadly, he chose his life and work in London instead."

"Is this the same person who you are convinced I look like?"

"Ah, yes, the same. Then again, he probably would be too stunned at all of the debauchery that he would refuse to leave the flat."

Amelia nodded, knowingly. "I'm sure that my parents would be the same way. They were horrified to find out where I was taking a vacation. Now, Jane, that is an _interesting_ choice, but wouldn't it be better if we all just went to Red Wing for the weekend? We could go to the casino!"

"Are you still living near them?"

"No, actually. I just moved out of Salt Lake City, but haven't decided where I would like to stay. I guess I have a case of lifelong wanderlust."

Irene looked contemplative. "Why not stay here? I've just rented a place just down the way, it is actually on the parade route. What did you say you did for work?"

"I didn't. I am trying to get a job as a pastry chef. What do you mean, stay here?"

"I mean, live in New Orleans. My rental includes an additional space. Well, it is quite tiny, but I am in the need of hiring a personal chef, so if you don't mind expanding your menu, you could live there."

Amelia stared at Irene, incredulous. "Why on earth would you want to hire me and move me into your home? You've known me for about an hour."

Irene gazed back. "I don't know, but there is something about you that I inherently trust. Please say you'll stay?"

"I'll consider it. But first, let's play a game I like to call 'Who is getting some and who is getting arrested?'"

She did ultimately stay. For the next 6 months, Amelia ignored requests from various clients and worked as a chef to Irene. They quickly fell into a solid friendship. Amelia appreciated Irene's taste for adventure and all things unusual and Irene took joy in Amelia's quick wit and ability to get out of the hairy circumstances that the duo wound up in. The last situation was a successful escape from a backroom at a sex theater during a rather rowdy version of Macbeth. Irene was still delighting in it "They really took the word 'adaptation' as a dare, didn't they?"

Amelia leaned back in the chaise lounge. They sat on the front porch, enjoying the brief reprieve from the August humidity. "Well, considering where we live and what kind of theater it was held in, was it really that much of a surprise? Besides, it was your idea to sneak backstage to get to know Banquo a little better. Who knew that his wife would be waiting in the wings?"

Irene's sly laugh told Amelia that she was not sorry about it. She was about to respond when her mobile went off. Irene read the incoming text, her expression went from lazy delight to ice-cold alertness. "Is there something wrong?" Amelia looked at Irene curiously. _Her reaction did not change until she read the text, which means that she knew the person sending the message-someone she trusts. As soon as she finished, her eyes went to the street, they know where she is and that was unexpected._

"I'm fine, let's go inside."

"Irene, you are not fine. Tell me what is bothering you."

For a moment, Irene looked lost. She then shook her head. "Unless you can make a person disappear, you cannot help." She started towards her bedroom.

"So what if I could?" Amelia called out.

That stopped Irene. "Are you ready to tell me who you are, really?"

That evening, Amelia told Irene about Seattle and her start as an assassin. Even though she trusted Irene, Amelia could not bring herself to admit the whole truth. Irene listened carefully. After she was done, Irene stood up and headed to her room once more.

"That's it? I thought you would need my help."

"I do, but I need to plan this through. I want to make sure that my only option is truly the last one I have left."

The next morning, Amelia woke up to make breakfast. Irene was still in her bedroom, which was not unusual. Amelia put on the coffee and set out to make a fresh batch of chai tea muffins. By the time she pulled out the finished baked goods, Irene had emerged, fully dressed and a face full of make-up. "I think we should take this to go. We need to take a drive."

"And that's how I found myself with Irene at the Fort Pike Bridge. Irene was alerted that some enemies that she made in Madrid found her. She was sick of running but I didn't understand it at the time. Irene asked me to kill her. She was both my client and my target. I begged her to reconsider. I told her that I knew people in other cities and we could keep her safe, but she said no. Sherlock, by dying, Irene found a way to stay ahead of her enemies. She died on her own terms and that was exactly what she wanted."

Sherlock didn't speak for a full minute. He just sat, processing what Amelia had told him. Finally, when Amelia was nearly convinced that he was plotting her death, he spoke. "Thank you."

"Come again?"

"You gave Irene the kindest gift that she could think of: a painless death and a final moment with a good friend. I agree, it was exactly what she wanted. So, thank you."

Amelia was relieved to know that Molly was right. Sherlock took the news of Irene better than Moriarty anticipated. They spent the next few days on experiments and Amelia helped consult on a case. One day, on their way back from Angelo's, Amelia found what she was expecting for almost a week. It came as a bit of post. A fancy looking invitation written on heavy paper. In calligraphy, it simply stated "Amelia Holmes is cordially invited to dinner at Hibiscus. Friday, February 8th, 2013. 8pm sharp. M."

Swallowing hard, she showed Sherlock the card. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"What I have to do. Go buy a fancy dress, get my hair done, and dine with a person who could potentially kill me over the appetizer."

**Please keep the reviews coming, I love hearing what you all think!**


	16. Dining with the Devil

In the end, Amelia decided that she would wear one of her already owned dresses. She feared that the blood that will most likely be spilled would stain whatever clothing she chose to wear. In other words, there was no way in hell she was spending money on a dress that Moriarty will ruin. The dark red dress that she had on would be less likely to discolor. It had a corseted top that helped hold her curves in the dress and a long slit in the skirt, making fighting a lot less cumbersome than in other gowns. Looking in her pocket mirror for a last-minute makeup check, she ran through a mental checklist. There are thousands of ways to incapacitate a person in a restaurant. Most patrons assume that an individual is too drunk to walk when they are carried out. Amelia has first-hand knowledge of that in Chicago and learned to perfect the slightly embarrassed smile to throw at them. Everyone knows that evil is out there, but no one wants to admit that it happens in front of them. Amelia checked her watch, 7:58pm, time to walk in.

Moriarty must have remembered Amelia's obsessive tendency to be on time, as he was waiting at the front door for her. "Hello, darling. You look wonderful."

"I thought I'd draw more unwanted attention if I came in with my leather and guns." Amelia paused and waited for Moriarty to open the door for her.

He smirked. "My dear, if you would have shown up like that, you wouldn't have even gotten through the door."

At Amelia's questioning glance, Moriarty pointed to the curb where a black limo sat, idling. A lesser person would have blushed, Amelia merely glared. Upon entering the restaurant, they were immediately greeted and placed in a private room. "Pulling out all the stops, aren't we?" Amelia muttered.

"For you, always." Moriarty sat down and looked through the wine list.

Amelia studied him. _He is playing nonchalant, but he is incredibly nervous. Eyes keep flicking towards the vent. _The host began to close the door. "Leave it open!" she shot out, never taking her eyes of off Moriarty. "Nice try. What did you put in the ventilation system?"

Moriarty looked irate for moment before the look of amusement replaced it. "It's my own special cocktail, merely something to help you relax. You look a little tense."

_Time to play a little. _Amelia leaned forward and adjusted her hair. She fidgeted enough to give the impression that she was nervous, but subtly so. Moriarty took the bait. His eyes shone with confidence, "Try the wine, it's Chianti. One of your favorites as I recall."

Amelia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Actually, I believe they have a Chardonnay here that I would much rather try." She smiled at the server, who was discreetly waiting nearby.

As their server stepped forward to verify her wine of choice, she slipped him some money. He glanced nervously at Moriarty, unsure about the change in the plans. "Might as well give her what she wants, Joseph, she's already figured it out."

Joseph scurried away and Amelia looked up. "Paying off the staff to drug my drink, how basic. But then again, they do say that Moriarty likes to balance new ideas with old school techniques." Amelia continued when Moriarty did not offer any information. "By the way, I do like the new name. Whatever happened to Richard Brooks?"

"It was time to cut ties with my old life, with one exception, of course." Moriarty winked. "Plus, it was beneficial to have the extra 2 days or so open before you figured out the connection between Richard Brooks and James Moriarty. But please, I prefer Jim."

"And I prefer tall, muscular blondes to take me out for a date. I guess it we will both be disappointed tonight."

"Amelia, please, just try to see things my way. I promise the evening will go much easier."

"Fine."

Moriarty's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Call off your tricks and I will hear you out. It'll be nice to know why you've been obsessing over me for 10 years."

"12"

"That's what you want to argue over?"

"You're right, dear, let's not waste our time squabbling. But first, why did you leave?"

"But first, stop aiming that gun at me and tell your thug in my backseat to get the hell out." Amelia softened her words with a flirtatious smile. "Please."

Moriarty could not make sense of Amelia's actions. But he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Already done. Why did you leave me?"

"What is with everyone fixated on why I left? It's so obvious. We met, you pursued, I rejected, and you stalked and threatened, so I left. There was nothing keeping me here. Sherlock had his own life as did Mycroft and my parents. Did you really think that I was so close to the rest of the Holmes family that I would put up with your bullshit?"

"Then why did you reject me?"

"I was a 16 year old with daddy issues and you were 24 with a criminal record. I might have been stupid enough to buy your act in the beginning, but I caught on pretty quickly."

"My act?"

"Oh come on, the whole 'save me from myself? I don't want to be bad anymore!' You wanted a pet and thought that I was naïve enough to fall for you."

"That wasn't an act, Amelia."

"I thought the whole point of this conversation was to be honest with one another."

_Bull's eye_. Moriarty's face turned red, his control was beginning to slip as he realized that Amelia may be agreeable, but she was cynically so. "Fine, I was not going to stop. But honey, trust me when I say that I never wanted you as my pet. Not in the way you are thinking. I wanted you by my side, my equal." At Amelia's dubious raised eyebrow, he chuckled and recanted. "Maybe not my equal, but far closer than any of my other associates."

"So you wanted to turn me as evil as you are. Funny, it seems like I can never get away from the men in my life deciding that it would be best if I were paired with them. Maybe I want to do things my way."

"Don't let it go to your head. Most people crave acceptance into social groups. You, as it appears, are the anomaly. But I want you, always have. And the others? They only want what I helped create. You would not be the strong fighter that you are if I had not intervened. Do you honestly think that you and Sherlock would be getting along so well had you become a baker? That idiot soldier wouldn't look at you twice if you did not know how to defend yourself. We won't even begin to discuss Mycroft's plans for you. Face it, Amelia, you were too jaded to be the sweet girl but you would have never developed your backbone had I not pursued you. And since we are being truthful here, I am rather glad that you left. It made you into the woman that I hoped you'd become. Your family members aren't the only ones who can deduce. I can see right into you. You are just a pretty picture for me to admire."

"Not entirely."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Outliers."

Moriarty appeared unconcerned as he shook out his napkin. Amelia knew better. _He's growing frustrated. I'm not giving him the answers that he expected and that is throwing him off. Excellent._ Joseph must have inconspicuously returned with the wine and appetizers. Amelia took a moment to take a sip of her wine. The cool and dry taste to the Chardonnay felt amazing in her mouth. Amelia wanted to finish the glass in one swallow, but knew that Moriarty would see that as a sign of nervousness. She wanted to appear calm and collected as she spoke, so she set the glass down. "Most people see human nature in the form of psychology or science, but I see it in math."

"Go on." Moriarty looked intrigued.

"Anyone who has taken a basic math class knows about the bell curve. I simply applied the theory to human nature. A person may have a strongly rooted personality, but no one acts the same in every situation. We act differently with our family than we act with our lovers; our lovers are different than our friends, and our friends different than our co-workers."

"Obvious concept."

"So most people think that personality is a fixed point, much like a median or average in the bell curve. Look into it more and it is just the spot where there is an equal amount above as below. But the bell curve should account for the majority of scores, or in my observation, personality traits and expected reactions to most situations. Now, most demonstrated behaviors that are outside of the curve can be explained by extraordinary occurrences, things that only happen once in a lifetime. A mother lifting a car to save her child after an accident or a seemingly mild mannered man attacking another after someone he loves is murdered would be great examples."

"And what does this have to do with us?"

"Simple, you have observed a great deal, I'll give you that. But there are parts of me that you have seen that do not make sense, not even considering the circumstances. My outliers. You have been growing increasingly frustrated, not because I am acting unpredictably, but because you are not sure what is in my bell curve and what are my outliers. You don't know what to expect and that is making you feel like you are losing control."

Smirking, Moriarty ran his hand through his hair. "My dear, I just assume that you are trying to throw me off with those extraneous traits."

"But you aren't sure which are real and which ones I am making up."

"Am I?"

"You are. Now, dare I assume that you will be holding up your end of the bargain?"

"And which would that be?" Moriarty's eyes were glimmering with mischief.

"It would be the one where we decide to settle this between us, no more casualties."

"Careful, your humanity is showing."

It was Amelia's turn to smirk. "Humanity has nothing to do with it. I just want to see how much I hurt you."

"So you are still going to play this ridiculous game? I think it's absolutely adorable that you believe you still stand a chance against me."

Amelia stood. "Now if I just gave in, would I really be that woman that you so desperately want?"

Moriarty watched as she walked out of the restaurant. "If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were fighting against me to keep my interest."

As he stood to leave, Vladmir, Moriarty's new second-in-command, appeared in the door. "Sir, what would you like me to do?"

"Keep an eye on her financials. She is not going to stick around here. Amelia wants to keep our casualty list low, so she will lead me away from her family and friends."

"And you are going to stop her before she leaves?"

"On the contrary. I plan to follow."


	17. Preparing

"So the whole evening ended without either of you trying to kill the other?" Sherlock called out from the kitchen.

Amelia had just walked into the flat. "Ok, Sherlock. Tell me how you came to that conclusion without looking."

Sherlock immediately abandoned his experiment at the table and walked into the living room. _Huh, toes and various acids._ Taking a seat across from Amelia, he began. "First, you've only been gone for two hours. Had you been fighting, you would have taken at least twice that long. You do not fight quickly, little sister, one of the most admirable things about you. Also, the sound of your footsteps indicated that you were walking normally. You also have a tendency to run up the stairs, which would have been more difficult if you had a physical altercation." Sherlock smirked and went back to his experiment. "And I know that you were hoping for a second chance at Moriarty, sorry you did not get it."

Taking off her shoes, Amelia groaned in relief. "Well, I can't disagree with that. However, I think I have his attention enough for you guys to be out of danger."

"Why do you insist on keeping us safe? John and I live for the challenge and Mycroft can't keep his pointy nose out of everyone's business. We can help you." Sherlock hadn't lifted his gaze from the microscope.

"Moriarty will never stop if he has the option of attacking me through others."

"Then what is the next step in your grand plan?"

"I need to get out of London and…."

"NO!" Sherlock snapped around to face Amelia. "You promised that you wouldn't leave again. I can tolerate your need to beat Moriarty on your terms, but now you want to run off again?"

Amelia walked into the kitchen and sat at the stool next to Sherlock. He regarded her with a sharp curiosity. "Sherlock, I am not leaving forever. I just want to avoid a heavy casualty number. Moriarty has been in London for the whole time and I just got back. We are fighting on his terms and on his land. I need to even the odds and take him somewhere unfamiliar."

"Back to Madison, I presume. You should tell Shameless to take a long vacation."

Pondering the suggestion, Amelia nodded in agreement. "Makes sense. Aside from Shay, I don't know anyone in that town. There are a lot of state parks, convenient for hiding a body."

Sherlock stood up and began to put away the different components of his experiment. "I'll help you pack." His voice was full of resignation. "But I don't agree with this. Let me go with you; we can be on different flights and we won't even need to see each other. I just want to be close in the event that you misjudge Moriarty."

"If you come with, you are on Shay-sitting duties."

"What?"

"Keep my friend safe."

"Wouldn't John be a better candidate than me? He has that calming doctor mentality."

"John will not be joining us."

"But I need my blogger."

"Then stay here."

Amelia and Sherlock glowered at each other. Finally, Sherlock relented. "Don't blame me if Shameless refuses to speak to you for years. And I will keep John informed of any new leads that we come across."

"We? No, any leads that I come across."

"You wish to keep consistent contact with him?"

"Our leads, it is."

"No way, Jane, fuck, Amelia, whatever your name is now! No way in hell am I spending any time with your brother. That annoying fuck will be killed within 5 minutes. No."

Amelia rubbed her temples with one hand. Her other hand was holding her mobile. "Shay, please, it is important. Besides, he is there against his will as well."

"How is this helping me agree?"

"He won't be allowed to leave and you can feel free to analyze his behaviors. All of them. Every single one. And tell him about it in length."

"I'm listening."

Amelia outlined her plan quickly and without any details. She figured the less information Shay knew, the less Moriarty could find out if he managed to get his hands on Shay and Sherlock. Shay listened intently. Amelia could picture Shay perched on her well-loved couch, her knees tucked up by her chin and her hand twisting a lock of hair. "Do you think that this will work?" Shay asked.

"No, but it's my best shot."

Amelia did not want to give Shay false promises. She was well aware of the risk that she was facing. Amelia may not make it out of the States alive. Her approach had to be planned perfectly and all potential snares had to be accounted for. She knew that there was one more phone call to make. Amelia quickly said goodbye to Shay, hung up, and redialed. The phone only rang once before Mycroft answered.

"Mycroft? I need your help."

**A/N: Looks like we are hitting the beginning of the end. If you have any epic ideas of how Moriarty should go down (if he goes down) let me know. PLEASE review! I love them! If you review, I will send you an interesting fact and good writing karma!**


	18. Misdirection

**A/N: Alright folks, we have hit the penultimate chapter. Amelia and Moriarty's fight will be coming to a close, but I will be starting a new story that will follow Amelia and company into their next adventure, so stay tuned!**

**Becks: Thanks for the head's up about the phone thing! I used 911 in the story because the characters were in Seattle, Washington. Since Amelia was trying to portray herself as an American, she would not have said to dial 999. Also, since she spent 12 years in the States, she adopted some of the American lingo, one of which was the term "cell phone" instead of "mobile." Though I did try to use both terms, depending on who's perspective it was. I apologize if I used the incorrect term with one of the British characters! Also, since you reviewed, here is your random factiod: The only bone in your body that does not have a joint is your hyoid bone in your throat.**

**As always, please let me know what you think and enjoy!**

Amelia knew that Moriarty sent someone to follow her from the moment she stepped off the plane at O'Hare airport. Throwing a brief smile at the flight attendants as she turned her mobile on, she spotted a large blonde man at the baggage claim area. The bags from her flight began to fall onto the conveyor belt and as the other passengers stepped forward to retrieve their suitcases, the mystery man stepped back. Unlike normal travelers, he stood solidly, looking neither to his left nor right. He simply waited. Amelia watched him for a few minutes. It was easy to keep an eye on him in the crowd; he was quite substantial in size, even by Midwestern standards. Amelia tried to visualize how she could exit the airport without being spotted, which was quite easy had she not needed her luggage.

A small chirp sounded from her purse. Mycroft had texted. "Let him follow you." Amelia raised her gaze to the security camera and saw it bob up and down. _Small position in the British Government, my ass._ Amelia nodded and walked to the claim. She could instantly tell that she would be stalked by a complete moron when she saw his eyes light up when he spotted her. He then produced his mobile and snapped a picture. Amelia locked eyes with the camera again, pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows, and made a face that said "Can you believe this guy?"

Her mobile beeped again. Mycroft. "Utter idiot." Then another message almost immediately after. "Just follow the plan. Please. And don't die, I would be most inconvenienced."

"Love you too, jerk."

On her way through Sauk City, Amelia passed the Cranberry Inn. She arrived at room 221 and smirked at the irony as well as the raised voices that she could hear. Instead of using the spare key that she managed to flirt out of the 18 year old front desk clerk, she left the hotel and walked to her car. She dialed Sherlock's mobile. Sherlock immediately answered. "Get me away from this foolish woman!"

Amelia could hear Shay in the background. "Sherlock, I'm afraid that you are the one acting crazed. I merely suggested that you deliberately chose black, well-made clothing to show others that you are above them without the hassle of trying to match things. For god's sake, you barely remembered to brush your teeth, much less shower, did you really think I wouldn't catch on to you?" Shay could barely contain her glee.

_So Sherlock is not happy with meeting his deducing match. Go figure. _Amelia grinned at her mobile. "If I recall, I agreed to you coming to the States with me if you kept Shay safe."

Sherlock glared at the wall, imagining his sister smirking in her car and her arms crossed over her chest. Realizing that he was stuck, Sherlock flung himself onto one of the two beds and covered his face with his hands. "I did not sign on to be falsely portrayed by some former sorority girl with an authority complex."

Shay smirked. "Now Sherlock, just because you don't like to hear it, does not make it untrue. Tell me, though, are you uncomfortable because no one has tried to analyze you or is it because you feel powerless in these plans of Amelia's?" She quickly moved her head to avoid the flying pillow that Sherlock launched.

Amelia laughed. She knew that Shay would keep Sherlock preoccupied and out of Amelia's way. Hanging up, she turned on the radio and sang along to Josh Turner crooning about how much it turned him on to be someone's man.

Amelia parked her rental car in the lot that connected to the Ice Age trail. She knew from reading the maps from Devil's Lake, the trail would meet up by Parfrey's Glen. She hiked slowly enough for Moriarty's henchman to keep up. Keeping her footsteps light, Amelia could hear the Russian idiot lumbering behind, about 100 feet. After 45 minutes, Amelia found herself at the beginning of the trail to the glen. As she predicted, the setting sun reduced visibility enough for Amelia to carry out her plan.

_Time to lose him._

Amelia turned off the trail abruptly. She followed the creek bank to a fallen tree trunk. Jumping up, she scrambled to the other side of the water and made her way to the top of the hill. Amelia dodged her way around the trees until she reached the waterfall. She climbed down and settled herself between two piles of rocks. Amelia reached down and felt the rifle that Mycroft's associate left for her. Leaning back, Amelia breathed deeply and allowed her heart rate to slow down. She mentally ran through her list. _Sherlock checked in again right before I left the car; Shay is already explained his inability to connect with women and his clothing choices. _ _Mycroft should have alerted his pilot to fly into the area. He should be landing at the farm shortly. Family was already paid off, thank you, Mycroft. Idiot stalker is blindly trying to find me again._

Amelia's focus was broken when she heard the sounds of twigs snapping. She rolled her eyes as she overheard her wannabe captor on his mobile. "I don't know where she went, Boss. One minute, I was right behind her and then she vanished."

"Don't worry about it, Vlad. I have her right where I want her."

Cursing quietly, Amelia froze at the new voice. Moriarty was right behind her. Before she got a chance to pick up her weapon, he wrapped one hand around her waist, the other held a knife at her throat. Moriarty nuzzled his face in her hair. "Willingly" he murmured.

"I did promise that, now didn't I." Amelia replied, turning in his arms. "But I can't guarantee that I will stay by your side indefinitely."

"My dear, I rather hoped that you would keep up our game after I won. I love to be kept on my toes."

Moriarty leaned forward and pressed his lips to Amelia. He was pleasantly surprised to feel her respond, wrapping her arms around his back. She tasted like coffee and mint, fascinated, he deepened the kiss. Unfortunately, he was too distracted to notice Amelia dropping a small item next to the rifle. Moments later, Moriarty stepped back. "I think we need to stop before I lose all sense of propriety. Let me take you home."

Amelia let his hand wrap around hers and they made their way out of the woods. She tried desperately to appear like she truly lost and had to face her punishment. Both Amelia and Mycroft worked tirelessly on the fake attack. It was Mycroft's idea to set up the rifle with tranquilizers and create a pre-dug grave at the farm where the plane would have been waiting. Amelia's eyes glanced up to the right of the falls where Anthea was hiding. She arrived two days prior and had camped out. Once Amelia left, she would notify Mycroft. Amelia hoped that Mycroft would give Anthea that large bonus he promised, as Anthea was not a fan of outdoor living. The creeping darkness hid any sign that Amelia was looking anywhere but in front of her. She kept her face neutral and forced her pulse to stay low by practicing her triangular breathing. Moriarty could not know what she was really planning.

The next morning, Shay led Sherlock to the waterfall. At 5am, there was enough weak light to guide them and it was early enough that no hikers would have stumbled upon the cache of weaponry left behind. Sherlock crouched by the formation of rocks where Amelia stood approximately 10 hours before. "How do we know that Amelia made it out alive?" Shay's voice was full of worry.

Sherlock turned and gave her a half-smile. "We know how to communicate long-distance."

He stood and held out his hand and in the middle of his palm stood a small stuffed frog.

**Six Months later.**

John waited impatiently outside of St. Bart's for Sherlock to arrive. He did not know the details of their meeting. Sherlock just left a brief text "Molly may have an interesting corpse, the one with the frog." John knew that if the message had a frog detail, then it had something to do with Amelia. He leaned his head against the cools tone and hoped that it was not Amelia on the slab. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock inspecting him, his head tilted to the side and his gaze impassive. "When you are done, I would like to see what Molly has."

Without waiting for a reply, he briskly walked into the building. John's stomach clenched. _This cannot be good._ He followed Sherlock to the morgue, where Molly waited by a table. Molly refused to look either of the men in the eye. John felt his heart slowly tearing itself into pieces. "She just came in this morning and I contacted you as soon as I recognized her."

Molly slowly lifted back the sheet and bit back a sob. John recognized Amelia's wild hair and soft porcelain skin. "What happened?" John took a moment to realize that the question came from him.

"Single gunshot to the heart. I'm sorry, I just, I can't stay." Molly hurried off.

Sherlock and John watched her rush out, the sound of her weeping followed. John gazed at Sherlock, who didn't move his eyes from his sister's face. "John" he began. "Please find a reason how this isn't Amelia."

Sherlock's voice was frighteningly quiet. John mentally prepared himself to help Sherlock through his shock. "Mate, this is Amelia."

"No."

"Sherlock, please, we're all heartbroken about this, but pretending that this…"

"JOHN! For once in your life, use your goddamn brain!" Sherlock's fist slammed on the table. "I received a package yesterday. This woman has been dead for at least a week."

"Maybe Moriarty found out how you two have been keeping in touch and sent you the box to throw us off his scent."

"Impossible. It is more likely that Amelia hired someone to become her and that is who we are looking at."

John looked at the ceiling and prayed for more patience. "Fine, I'll amuse your delusion for 20 minutes. If we can't find anything, then we need to assume that this is Amelia."

"I will let you inspect the body. If you need me, I will be getting coffee for Molly. Poor thing had quite the fright." Sherlock started toward the door, pausing in the frame. "Thank you."

Looking at the dead body, John willed himself to stop shaking. For one moment, John decided, he will believe that Sherlock is right. That Amelia was still out there. John did not think he could handle another loss. Breathing deeply, he removed the sheet entirely. Despite being dead for a week, the corpse was in remarkably good shape. John recognized the signs of bloating and assumed that she had been held underwater after being shot. _What was the point in that?_ Forcing back his tears, he glanced at the body's legs. _Wait a minute. _John felt for his mobile and quickly sent Sherlock a text.

By the time Sherlock and Molly returned, John had covered the corpse, exposing only her legs. "What did you find?" Sherlock asked breathlessly.

"Her tattoos are wrong."

Sherlock's eyes grew sharp. "Pardon?"

"Amelia has three tattoos on her legs. It was the only place where she dared have identifying marks on her body. She had a garter belt on her left leg with lace and a bow, this body is missing the bow. She had a dragonfly as well on that side, but this is a bee. Amelia hates bees so there is no reason why she would have that tattooed on her body. Finally, there was also the Holmes crest on her other leg, but this design is backwards." John pointed out all the small details of the artwork.

"John, I am going to ignore the fact that you are well acquainted with my sister's legs for a moment and ask why there are mistakes on these tattoos. If Moriarty wanted us to think her dead, they would be exact replicas. This must have been from Amelia." Sherlock turned to Molly. "Get your boyfriend on the phone and tell him that we need to run this woman's fingerprints."

Sherlock turned back and saw John staring closely at the garter belt tattoo. "If I am not mistaken, this isn't even a real tattoo. See how it is slightly smeared?"

Grabbing a paper towel and a spray bottle, Sherlock wetted the towel and ran it along the design. Sure enough, the ink smeared more. "It is a fake" breathed Sherlock.

John and Sherlock took turns cleaning off the leg. Eventually, the drawing was completely cleared off and the two men looked at a second small design. A green frog peered out at them. "She's still alive" remarked John.

"But we already knew that. Why would she deliver a dead body to us?" Sherlock's brow furrowed in thought. "There must be more to these mistakes than what we realize. A message perhaps?"

John inspected the frog closer. On the frog's belly stood one word in faint script. "Soon."

Sherlock quickly deduced the rest. "A bee instead of a dragonfly and a backwards Holmes crest."

Locking eyes, John and Sherlock recited in unison.

"Be home soon."


	19. Aftermath

**Nine months later.**

Amelia could not help but feel a wave of déjà vu rush over her as she stood across the street from 221B Baker Street. Fortunately, she was not in danger of death by blood loss, though the limp in her right leg was quite bothersome and she imagined that the stiches on her neck could be removed. Both injuries were well worth it, as Moriarty was finally dead. The bastard kept smirking until the very end, though. She wasn't surprised by his reaction either. Moriarty caught on to what Amelia was planning after sending Sherlock the corpse. She remembered the night Moriarty accused her of trying to run off again. Most of the finer details, like what he used to cut his name onto her side, were mostly a blur. But the memory of his yelling and use of a whip were clear as day. Amelia knew that if Moriarty figured out her entire plot, he would have done much worse.

During the first two months of her luxurious imprisonment, she was locked in Moriarty's flat with a bolted door and two armed guards always within eyeshot. The guards only left when Moriarty returned from his "business trips." Of course, those were the times that she wished they would stay. Though she agreed to the terms with Moriarty, there was nothing willing about the events that happened behind closed doors. Amelia fought him initially but knew that the longer she rejected him, the longer Moriarty would keep her locked away. Eventually, she let Moriarty believe that her stance against him was wavering. She started by kissing him back before pushing him away and then came the looks of satisfaction when he would caress her cheek or run his hands through her hair. Slowly, Amelia gave the impression of arousal and acceptance whenever Moriarty demonstrated loving behaviors. Like any man, Moriarty did not realize that he was a victim of simple classical conditioning. His beatings and sadistic tendencies began to diminish as Moriarty began to talk strategy with her. Amelia listened intently and offered suggestions, specifically how to kill a man without being in the same room. After another three months, Moriarty trusted her enough to bring her with him on his consulting excursions. Amelia worked hard to convince Moriarty that she was his equal partner and was granted solo meetings with some clients. What Moriarty did not realize was that Amelia deliberately created mistakes that traced back to him. When a man was assassinated, he was left alive long enough to write a message, detailing who hired the hit. Amelia would also create a virtual train whenever Moriarty hacked into a bank account to commit online robbery.

Eventually, Moriarty's enemies began to learn his name and whereabouts. Around that time, Amelia met Jennifer Brown, a suicidal prostitute, in Paris. Jennifer already looked enough like Amelia to be startling, but it did not take much convincing to talk her into a few cosmetic surgeries and trips to the tattoo parlor to finish the process. Amelia paid for all the procedures and gave Jennifer time to sort out any loose ends before Amelia shot her in the heart. As she was about to throw the new corpse off the roof at St. Bart's, which Sherlock would appreciate the irony of, Moriarty sent Amelia a text message, demanding that she return. With the last minute change of plans, Amelia stored the body in a man-made pond that was located on the property of some very rich citizens, who were conveniently on holiday. By the time Amelia returned, Moriarty was in a state of panic. As it turned out, Moriarty was informed about the snipers that set up camp across the street from the flat, intent on assassinating him for the mysterious explosion in Dubai last month. Moriarty gave Amelia 15 minutes to pack before they relocated to his safe house. Amelia went along with the plans, as to not arouse suspicion, and assumed that she had Moriarty fooled. Once they arrived at their new location, Amelia noticed photographs of herself and Jennifer leaving a clinic. Turning around, Amelia saw that Moriarty had crept up behind her.

After that, Amelia could not see much. Moriarty's first swing landed between her eyes. It took a full week to recover from his beating.

Once she was healed enough to regain most of her motor functioning in her hands, Amelia texted Sergio, a new business associate, who agreed to fish out Jennifer's body from the pond and move it to the driveway of the same rich family, who were conveniently returning from holiday that afternoon. Amelia did not intend to stay with Moriarty for several months after her message was delivered, but after getting caught, Moriarty was less likely to trust her alone. Amelia was required to perform her own hits, instead of consulting. She was stabbed in the neck outside of Moscow by the leader of the local sex trade, even though fucking Vladmir swore that the man always went without his weapons when he visited his favorite girl. Unfortunately for Vladmir, Amelia did not put up with incompetence. Moriarty laughed with glee when he found the remnants of Vladmir's body, still tied to the flagpole.

That evening, Moriarty made Amelia resume her role as his lover.

Despite the setbacks that Amelia faced, she had created enough publicity for Moriarty to keep his rivals on his trail. Moriarty and Amelia spent another 7 months dodging death threats and moving every two weeks. Moriarty was in such a state of anxiety; he didn't observe Amelia taking over as the contact for the guards. He also didn't notice that there would be fewer bodyguards every time they moved. Eventually, there were only two men left, both were well paid by Amelia and left silently when she gave them the signal. They were so loyal to Amelia that they did not even turn around when they heard Moriarty's screams.

The next morning, Amelia stumbled out of the house, which was more like a shack. For the first time in 13 years, Amelia felt like she could finally breathe. She turned her face into the sun and began to laugh until fat tears began to roll down her cheeks.

It wasn't until she picked herself up from the sidewalk that Amelia realized that she was in South Africa. For the next month, she worked hard labor jobs in exchange for transportation north. She found herself in a precarious position in Somalia, but an explosion from a homemade bomb distracted the Militia members long enough for Amelia to escape through a backdoor. Finally, that morning, a friendly cab driver offered to take her to Baker Street. Amelia picked up her duffle bag and made her way across the street. Mrs. Hudson must have spotted her lingering and opened the door. Crossing her arms and attempting to make a stern face, Mrs. Hudson scolded "Do you realize what you put your poor brothers through?"

Amelia tried to smile at Mrs. Hudson while walking in, but tripped over her bad ankle. Mrs. Hudson immediately put an arm around Amelia's waist and led her upstairs, continuing her lecture the entire way. "Poor Sherlock thought you were dead until John figured out the message that you left. Did you actually kill that woman just so you could communicate with them? Her family must be so distraught. How did you hurt yourself? Do we need to take you in to see a doctor? Well, no matter, John is upstairs. He will look at you."

Mrs. Hudson pushed the door open and helped Amelia over to the couch. "Sherlock? John? You may want to come in here!"

Sherlock was the first to emerge, stepping out of his bedroom with his violin in his hands. "Mrs. Hudson, I keep telling you that you just need to drop the tea off on the table, no need to call for us."

"And I keep telling you that I am not your housekeeper. Make your own tea and say hello to your sister!"

Within three large strides, Sherlock cleared the kitchen. He froze in the doorway and for a full minute just watched Amelia. She could tell that he immediately deduced everything that Amelia had faced in the last 15 months. His eyes grew flinty when he realized that she had been raped and beaten repeatedly, but then the corner of his mouth twitched upward when he came to the conclusion that Moriarty was killed by Amelia, who took her sweet time. Leaning down, he picked up a pillow and moved his chair over to her. Sherlock lifted Amelia's injured leg and placed it on the pillow. "John will be down momentarily."

Amelia leaned back and closed her eyes. She really did not intend to fall asleep and she did not notice Mrs. Hudson covering her with a blanket.

Despite herself, Amelia felt happy to see John when she woke up a few hours later. He had been busy while she was sleeping, her stitches were out and her ankle was wrapped properly. A cup of tea and some pain meds were sitting on the arm of the couch, which Amelia gratefully took. She noticed that John sat at his laptop, typing. Without looking away from the screen, John asked "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you."

"Anytime, but could you explain why you still had those stitches in your neck? They should have been taken out over a month ago."

Amelia rolled the mug between her hands. "It is surprisingly difficult to get to a doctor when you are hitchhiking your way across Africa."

That got John's attention. "You did what? Do you realize how dangerous that was?"

"Pretty sure the most dangerous person in Africa at that time was me. Besides, I managed to make it back just fine." Amelia did not see the point in mentioning the Somalian militia situation.

"You are either the bravest woman that I ever met, or the most stupid, to honestly think that you stood a chance." John stood and walked over to the couch. "But that is hardly the point. Did you manage to stop Moriarty?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"I pulled the entrails out of his body. Pretty sure he's not coming back."

Instead of being horrified at the description, John looked relieved and nodded. "Finally. Hopefully I can start getting to sleep at night."

"I figured that Mary would help you with that."

"You don't know?" John peered into Amelia's eyes. "Dear god, no one told you."

"Told me what?" _This cannot be pleasant. John looks like he is just getting out of mourning, but why would he be mourning if Mary is….oh no. _"What happened?"

"Car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light. She died almost immediately."

"When?"

"Almost a year ago."

"John, I am so sorry. I really liked Mary."

"She really liked you too. I guess you made quite the impression on her because she couldn't stop talking about how great it was that you were back and how much of a positive presence you are going to be on both Sherlock and Mycroft."

Amelia did not know what to say to John. She hardly had any experience with comforting others. Settling for what she would prefer, she grasped John's hand and they sat in silence. John was relieved to know that Amelia was not trying empty words to make him feel better. Over the past year, he has heard them all. His most hated phrase was "she's in a better place now." John just wanted to respond "She was already in a pretty fucking great place before some drunk arsehole slammed into her."

But Amelia was different. She didn't have to prove how much she understood, she merely did. John eventually relaxed. Neither said a word until Sherlock returned that evening, gloating about another snarky remark that he made to Anderson. Sherlock noticed the joined hands and amicable nature between his flat mate and little sister, but chose not to say anything. He figured that it would be more beneficial to collect such data for later use. "So, shall I assume we are doing takeaway this evening?"

"Depends, how many toes are in your fridge right now?" Amelia smirked at Sherlock's furrowed brow as he tried to recall.

"Only 5, but I did find a head the other day."

Amelia turned to John. "Chinese?"

The evening passed uneventfully. Amelia considered that a long-deserved win. John somehow managed to convince Sherlock and Amelia to watch his new season of Doctor Who on DVD. Amelia gave up trying to figure out what was going on once she realized that David Tennant was replaced by Matt Smith and laughed at Sherlock pointing out all of the scientific errors. Finally, John had enough. "Sherlock, can you just watch a show just for the entertainment of it?" He sighed at Sherlock's incredulous expression. "Nevermind."

After the third episode, Amelia began to nod off. Sherlock woke her with a sharp jab to her ribs. "If you are going to sleep, go into my room and do it. I'd rather you not drool on my couch."

"Why can't I sleep upstairs?"

Sherlock fought the urge to roll his eyes at his sleep deprived sibling. "Because John moved back in, do you think he would just spend all day here just to go off to his own flat to sleep?"

"Oh, I thought, well, I figured that, right, John lives here now." Amelia made her way to Sherlock's room, muttering "Well, that was awkward."

The next morning, Amelia nearly skipped out of the back bedroom. She had a full night's sleep and was looking forward to such a long shower that Mrs. Hudson would choke on her water bill. However, once Amelia saw the umbrella leaning against the wall, she knew that her plans would be put on hold. "Hullo, Mycroft."

Mycroft appeared. "Good to see you again, Amelia. I trust that your little excursion has come to a conclusion?"

"Um, yeah, you mean where I tortured and killed the consulting criminal that had you and Sherlock running around like a couple of blind dogs after their tails? Just small potatoes, I actually finished that long ago, but I wound up in Tahiti and thought 'why the hell not?' and had a sultry fling with the cabana boy."

"As always, dear sister, your wit is always on point, even in this early hour. I was wondering if you and I could take a walk, though. It would be brief, if that helps." Mycroft did not wait for a response, but began to walk to the door.

"Fine! But can I just put on some proper trousers?" Amelia bit back another sarcastic remark as Mycroft handed her a shopping bag. "Thank Anthea for me, she does have the best taste in clothing."

After changing into black slacks and a turquoise sweater and applying some deodorant and body spray, Amelia looked forlornly at the shower. She ran her hand over the shower head. "Later" she promised.

True to his word, Mycroft and Amelia set out on a rather short walk. He did not try to fill in the silence with halfhearted conversation and Amelia did not mind. Both lost in their thoughts, Mycroft and Amelia turned the corner. "What do you think of it?" Mycroft asked.

"What do I think of what?" Amelia followed Mycroft's pointed finger and spotted a vacant storefront. "It's an empty building."

"It's an empty building with a newly renovated kitchen and located in a high residential and office neighborhood. I believe that if a bakery was to open here, it would do quite well as there is almost no competition."

"You are giving me a bakery?" Amelia felt the urge to pick up her jaw from the ground.

"When you first got back, you told me that you would be a part of my scheme against Moriarty and then you wanted to go back to your life. I am merely assisting you with the process." Mycroft produced a set of keys and held them out to Amelia.

Reaching for the keys, Amelia muttered "I meant I wanted to go back to my life in the States."

"Did you have a life in the States? You had friends, but no sense of family. And you spent the entire time ignoring your roots and your true self. An assassin's life is not the one for you, Amelia. Start over here."

It wasn't until they reached the door that Amelia realized that Mycroft was leading her in. "I don't think I can fit into that life again, Mycroft. Too much has happened. I have more blood on my hands than I care to admit." Amelia looked at her oldest brother. "Why do I get the feeling there is more to this situation than you are leading me to believe?"

Mycroft hesitated, hand on the doorknob. "Always the observant one. Just come in with me and see how you like the space. I will explain everything inside."

Amelia entered the empty café. The front was open and had large windows that faced the busy street. Brick walls lined the walls and matched well with the metal features. Amelia could not help but imagine what she could do with the layout. The counter in front of the kitchen door would need to be replaced to add a wooden element and could be extended to include bar-like seating. There was enough space behind it to accommodate a large menu, supplies for beverages, and a sizeable bake case. Looking at the ceiling, Amelia was pleased to find a brand new ventilation system, which was exposed enough to add charm without looking incomplete. Walking to the rear of the building, Amelia found a small, but fully functional kitchen. Making mental measurements, Amelia realized that if she placed the work tables in the middle, she could fit two double ovens. She also noticed the two extra nooks off the kitchen, one with sinks for dishes and the other was empty, which could be used as a decorating station. A small office was located just off of the empty nook. Amelia walked out of the kitchen, intent on judging the bathrooms. Fortunately, there were two small bathrooms, but looked so utilitarian, Amelia cringed a little. Crouching down, she noticed that the pipes looked new as did the flooring. Amelia figured that the bathrooms just needed a superficial renovation to meet her standards. She walked back to the dining area and found Mycroft standing at the counter, leaning slightly on his umbrella. "What do you think?"

Amelia sighed. "It's a wonderful space, so full of promise, but I don't think I am qualified to try to run a business."

"Do not be ridiculous. Since you had to go months between paychecks, you are good at budgeting your money and thinking outside of the box to find resources. You can determine what a person needs with a simple glance, that is an excellent sales quality. I also took the liberty of collecting all of your recipes when you left home, so you are not going to be starting all new. This is the life that you were supposed to have. Just because you say it out loud does not mean that I didn't see you completely plan out how this bakery should look and you just finished figuring out startup costs and how much you would need to make all the renovations that you want. Also, you are cynical and suspicious of new people, so there is no worry about contractors or other business associates overcharging. You need to come to terms with the fact that you know how to run a business, even if you did not learn it in a conventional sense."

"I will consider it. Now, why are you trying to keep me in London?"

"You have made some enemies during your time with Moriarty. I didn't have to worry about you in the States because you were so careful with your choice of targets. However, Moriarty forced you to kill individuals with very powerful friends. If you were to leave London, you would be slain almost immediately. My connections can keep you safe until the threats are gone." Mycroft did not see a point in mincing words.

Amelia considered Mycroft's proposal. It would be nice to be living at home with her family. Shay had called the night before and told Amelia that she was just offered a job at the Tavistock clinic. Though Amelia had a feeling that Mycroft had a hand in that offer, she listened as Shay described three flats that found fit both women. One was conveniently at 221C Baker Street. Amelia took a moment to envision her new life, if she chose to accept. Business-wise, she could start small with the café before adding a catering option. Amelia knew that it was only a matter of time before the space above her shop opened up and would make a nice living space until she could convert it into an event room. This could be the life where she could meet someone, get married, and have children.

It sounded so dreadfully boring.

But then again, Amelia was not a fan of constantly running from people who want to kill her. Not anymore. There had to be a compromise somewhere. Amelia could not help but imagine how John could fit into this new life. He has seen Amelia at her darkest and still loved her. More so, John would encourage her to seek out excitement. She shook the image out of her head and looked at Mycroft. "If I agree to this, I want to help eliminate the people who are threatening me."

Disappointment flashed in Mycroft's eyes briefly before a neutral expression took over. "That is not a solution that I like, but I know how stubborn you are and I would prefer that we work together on this instead of you exacting revenge behind my back. I already have Sherlock to give me that migraine. We shall meet once a week to discuss progress and make plans. You will be completely informed, but I do not want you leaving London nor do I want you to be the one to do the executing. There is enough blood on your hands, Amelia, you said it yourself."

Reaching her hand out, Amelia smiled as she and Mycroft shook on their agreement. "Now, where is the landlord or lady? I wish to put some money down on this fabulous shop."

Mycroft's smile widened, "It just so happens that your landlord is standing right in front of you."

"You bought the building?"

"Of course I did. How else can I ensure that you are holding up your end of our bargain? Now, I must draw our little meeting to a close, I am expected in Hong Kong this evening." Mycroft straightened his lapel. "Welcome home, Amelia."

He walked out the door. Amelia gaped after him. _He bloody knew what was going to happen. _Her mobile rang; a new text message had been delivered. Amelia looked at the screen; it stated a name, an address, and a dollar amount. The name was for a prominent member of the U.N., a person that Amelia knew quite well. It was also a person whose death would cause utter chaos. _Better skip that request. _Smirking, Amelia glanced at the door. She would let Mycroft believe that she is content with her simple life.

But every once in a while, Amelia would go out and play.

**Thanks so much for reading! And stay tuned, I will be publishing another Amelia story soon!**


	20. Sneak Peek

**Hi Folks! I am working fanatically on my second story. But I thought I would send you a sneak peek at "Piping slice of mystery"**

**Let me know what you think and mark your calendars for November 1st, when Amelia, Sherlock, John, and Shay return!**

Lately, John Watson was not a fan of how easily adaptable Sherlock Holmes was. The last time Sherlock was this bored; John had to hide the bullets to his gun. Mrs. Hudson charged the men twice every time there was a new bullet hole in her wall, once for the repairs and once to cover the emotional damage of being startled with every gunshot. Neither Sherlock nor John questioned this. The unfortunate difference between the two was that John preferred that Sherlock just stopped shooting the damn wall. Sherlock preferred to pay the extra charges and after having his bullets taken from him almost two years ago, kept a secret stash somewhere in the flat. So, this evening, John somehow talked Sherlock into taking a walk.

John determined that it was the worst decision he'd ever made.

"John, why are we walking where there are no people? This is boring. I thought we were walking to distract me from my boredom. Let's go by people, John, I feel the need to deduce. Tonight may be the night that I might actually find someone surprising instead of dull."

"We are walking away from people because I cannot trust that you won't say something offensive to the next dull individual we stumble across."

"I wouldn't do that."

"You already did and have the handprint on your face as proof."

"Is that why my cheek stings a bit? I was wondering."

"You honestly deleted that already?"

"Not worth remembering, John. That space could be used for more important information, like who is on the roof of that church?"

"What?" John turned his head toward the darkened church.

Sure enough, there was a figure dragging an object toward the bell tower. Without speaking, John and Sherlock ran to the building. "How'd they get in?" yelled John.

"I suppose they might have gone through the backdoor seeing as how it is wide open."

"Oh shut up, Sherlock. My eyes aren't what they used to be."

"Ah, the receding skills of the elderly, you know, eyesight is actually the second ability to deteriorate as you age."

"What's the first?"

"Can't remember."

Their conversation ceased once they walked through the open door. Sherlock led John behind the pulpit and to the discreet set of stairs. Climbing up, Sherlock pointed at the ladder that would take them to the catwalk and started up. Judging by the dust, John figured that the only use for the catwalk was to replace the light bulbs. Still, it was useful as John heard the approaching footsteps and the subsequent dragging of whatever the figure had. John knew Sherlock was hoping for a dead body and frankly, so did John. Their curiosity was soon fulfilled when the corpse of a man dropped in front of their feet. Looking up, both men gaped at the face that popped up over the rafters. Amelia smiled sweetly and waved. "Hi guys, I heard you were bored."


End file.
